Zen and the Art of Throwing Cows At Tricksters
by silver ruffian
Summary: Dean, John, Sam and Coyote on a hunt in California. This fic includes flying objects of the bovine variety, tiger!Dean, the Foot of Apollo, Sam angst and BBQ at Bobby's place, among other things. Timeline: post Coyote's Tale.
1. there's the cow, and there's the crater

_**A/N:**_ I blame Jenna for this one. Totally. No cows were harmed during the writing of this fic. Well, Sam, Dean and John did have hamburgers for lunch that time and Coyote stole that herd of cattle way back in the day but none of that counts. This is pure crack. Written quickly and un-beta'd. I have no shame. I apologize to members of the bovine species everywhere, the Happy Cows of California, and the Gods and Goddesses in this Earthly Plane of Existence.

Soundtrack for this one: Thank You Falletin Mice Elf Again – Eddie Murphy and Antonio Banderas, Shrek The Third Soundtrack

Summary: Dean, John, Sam and Coyote on a hunt in California. Post Coyote's Tale.

Disclaimer: _I _know I don't own 'em. _You_ know I don't own 'em. Must you torment me with that cruel knowledge?

* * *

_**Part 1 There's the cow, and there's the crater **_

Plenty of farms around here in San Mateo County, in the great state of Cali. Beautiful countryside, that is if you can ignore the craters that dot the landscape.

This particular one is pretty damned impressive, nearly fifteen feet deep. Funny thing is, there's no splatter. No guts, no glory. All they can see of this particular bovine is four brown legs sticking stiffly straight up into the air, like table legs. It's sunk into the ground up to its belly.

Dean stands a few inches back from the edge and rocks back and forth on his heels slightly, his hands jammed into the pockets of his leather jacket. John and Sam stand on either side of him.

They look like any other looky loos you might see by the side of the highway, except these morbid curiosity seekers are packing guns with special silver loads hidden in their waistbands, holy water in silver flasks and the power of a trickster god hidden inside.

They're all in each other's personal space. John, Dean and Sam stand practically elbow to elbow, and the Old Man sits on the ground between Sam and Dean. There was a time when Coyote never would have ventured outside the headspace when John was around. That was months and months ago. They're a family now, which includes getting on each other's nerves _and_ looking out for each other, the whole package deal.

Dean's way too quiet, and Sam can just about predict what's going to come out of his mouth once they spotted_ this_. For the last week or so Sam's endured all the wisecracks from Dean – "Beef. It's what's for dinner." "Where's the beef?" which Dean discovered watching cable one day. Never mind that he was six years old when that saying came out in 1984, but that didn't stop him from running it into the ground, _oh no_.

Dean was even able to work "Pork. The Other White Meat" in somehow, just to annoy the hell out of Sam. Dean and Coyote damn near howled with laughter, and it must have been funny, because even John laughed out loud.

Sam was _not_ amused.

Sam's never been one much for guessing games, so he just huffs and says. "Okay. Say it."

Dean just shrugs.

"You gonna make me wait for it, aren't ya?"

That wide-eyed innocent look of Dean's nearly perfect. _Wait for it? Why, whatever do you mean?_

Dean looks at the craters all around and finally says, "Well. It's cows."

"And we are in California," Sam says cautiously.

"Yeah, but dude, they don't seem all that damn happy." In the dictionary next to the word _smug_ there's a picture of Dean Winchester with that expression on his face.

John shakes his head. That was downright awful.

There's more. There always is.

Sam groans silently, does a mental countdown down from five.

At the count of zero, Dean opens his mouth, and --

"Don't have a cow, man," Coyote snarks, in a dead-on imitation of Bartholomew J. Simpson.

Dean closes his mouth with a snap. He looks like he wants to just reach down and wrap his hands around the Old Man's neck like Homer does when Bart works that very last nerve of his. It would look like animal abuse, and technically he would be choking himself, but right now Dean doesn't give a damn.

John Winchester, legendary hunter, ex-marine and recent escapee from the bowels of hell, ducks his head down. His broad shoulders shake a little as he snickers. It's not very macho, but he can't help it. All this time he thought he had only two sons, when he really had three all along.

"Aw, you're just mad 'cause I got there first," Coyote grins. His thick tail's wagging back and forth, and he looks pretty damned pleased with himself.

Dean looks at Sam and John helplessly, in mock distress.

Sam shrugs. "Dude, it's too late. Let it go. Moment's over."

John snort-chuckles. Much more manly.

So far it's just another day at the office. They'd just finished putting down a particularly nasty wind elemental. Somewhere, somehow, it developed a taste for meat. At first it liked to swoop down on people in cars driving down the highway nearby, pull them out of their cars and spirit them away. After it stripped the flesh off its victims it would spit the bones out. The fugly had a bottomless pit for a stomach, and it started snatching cows up instead. Pound for pound, more meat on the hoof. After awhile it started liking the idea of tossing cows, hence the craters.

Naturally the proper authorities ignored everything.

Finding out what the hell it was and where wasn't all that that difficult, either. Dean and Coyote approached some of the local tree spirits and they were only too happy to tell the hunters exactly where the elemental's lair was. Seems that a couple of weeks before one of the hamadryads and the tree she inhabited had been reduced to a pile of kindling when a fifteen hundred pound dairy cow fell out of the sky right on top of it.

"Damn thing evolved, I guess," John said quietly moments before after the Latin he thundered into the air faded away and all that hellish commotion died down inside the cave. Hey, it happened. Sometimes fuglies learned new tricks, zigged when they were supposed to zag.

Job's done now, and they all can relax. The post hunt downtime is sometime that Sam always looks forward to. Coyote's so bored he tries not to yawn, but it's kind of hard not to. Seeing a cow carcass in a crater is rather tame compared to some of the other stuff they'd all seen before. Even seeing the cow hit would've been good for about a ten second thrill, which turned out to be ten seconds of thrill that they _didn't_ get. It was pretty much over by the time they walked back to the Impala.

The Old Man finally cuts loose with a toothy, jaw-stretching yawn, turns in a tight circle and sleepily pads back inside the headspace he shares with Dean.

It's easy to figure this one out. This was the elemental's Hail Mary play, one last great act of defiance.

That was what everybody figured.

They figured wrong.

_**000**_

This one is complete. I'll be posting a chapter every other day this week.


	2. got my mojo hand workin'

**_A/N:_** Oh, what the heck. Got other things I plan on posting later on today, so I decided to let the cows out one day early.

_**Disclaimer:**_ _I _know I don't own 'em. _You_ know I don't own 'em. Must you torment me with that cruel knowledge?

* * *

At first the food at the rest stop's just about what you'd expect: fast, and greasy. Doesn't mean good or cheap, though. A burger, fries, and a small soda's eight bucks. John suspects that either Dean or Coyote gave the credit cards a good tweaking, the mother of all tweaks, as a matter of fact, because they've had a run of real good luck lately. As in unlimited, phenomenal credit.

John briefly wonders whether it's a waste of power having them engage in something as low as credit card fraud, but he doesn't miss that mellow gleam in Dean's eyes. If his family's happy and taken care of, Dean's happy, so John lets the matter drop.

The salads in the those clear plastic clamshell containers look like they were fresh last week sometime, and Sam's pretty sure that botulism and e-coli lurks in those withered greenish-brown leaves. He tries in vain to go for something healthy and fails miserably. He's shoulder to shoulder with Dean as they stand at the counter eyeing the menu overhead and Sam doesn't miss the way Dean's eyes spark golden.

The food's suddenly too good, too fresh to come from a roadside joint like this one, and there's plenty for everybody. People who shuffled in with only pocket lint and three quarters in their jeans suddenly find tens and twenties in their pockets.

Sam's lost count how many times Dean's done this since they came back from New Mexico months ago. First time he did it, Sam and John instantly knew what happened, and Dean just shrugged. _What's the sense of havin' all this mojo if I can't use it, huh?_

Sam's willing to overlook something like this. No moral outrage on his part. Not this time.

They're sitting at one of the picnic tables on the side nearest the parking lot. Sam dives into that turkey sub, nearly moans as he bites into it and indescribable goodness floods his taste buds.

Dean rolls his eyes as he attacks his food. Red meat's within striking distance and he's not wasting any time.

John's quiet as he goes to work on that triple hamburger of his. He's not sweating the cholesterol. Dean devours half of his own triple burger, pauses in mid-bite, and the center of his pupils glow a soft, mellow gold.

Sam freezes. So does John. Dean's usually not this obvious, not out in public, anyway.

Dean stares into space as the glow in his eyes brightens. No one else notices.

"_Well, I'll be damned,"_ Dean whispers, and that weird overlay to his voice lets John and Sam know that Coyote and Dean have merged, however briefly.

Whatever the hell this is, it can't be good.

Dean gets up without another word and quickly walks through the picnic area, Sam and John right on his heels. John's very aware of the pistol in his back waistband. Silver rounds. He knows a trick or two if this is something that silver doesn't work on.

Sam's only a step or two behind Dean. He hears Dean chuckle under his breath, but even though Dean sounds relaxed and even happy Sam doesn't let his guard down. He's heard his brother make that same sound just as they were about to go hunt something terrible, like werewolves. Sometimes it's kind of hard to tell what mood Dean's really in.

Dean walks up to this nattily attired black dude sitting at one of the tables, sipping orange juice from a glass bottle.

Sam stops short, and he can't help but stare. Dude looks just like Samuel L. Jackson.

Dean slides onto the opposite bench, leans forward as he puts his elbows on the table. He grins wolfishly. "Sam the Man. I loved you in 'Snakes on a Plane'!"

"That makes you an' twenty other people in the continental United States," the black dude says dryly. He quirks an eye at Dean. "I see bein' walled up for over 22 years didn't dull that sense of humor of yours."

Sam and John walk up behind Dean, and the black man looks up and smiles, nods. "Well. The family that stays together hunts together. Samuel and John Winchester."

Dude's image changes each time Sam and John blink. One moment he wears ornate black robes edged with intricate silver webbing on the sleeves and the hem. The skullcap on his head matches the robes, but that's not the most striking part.

He has eight arms, and a gold or silver ring on each finger.

Each arm moves independently of the other. Several arms are just idle, tapping on the worn wooden tabletop, or tracing intricate designs on the wood out of boredom. One hand holds the glass bottle of orange juice, while the parallel hand gently smooths out the folds of those midnight black robes. Still another hand holds a copy of the local newspaper, while the other hand holds one of the paper menus.

"It's Tuesday. The burgers are on special today," Dean says mildly, and the guy laughs, a warm, hearty sound.

The only constant is that pair of silver wire-rimmed glasses perched on the dude's nose.

Sam just stares, fascinated. The next blink the man's wearing jeans, a black tee shirt and a tan jacket. Minus the four extra arms, of course.

Either way, well hell, he looks like Samuel L. Jackson sitting in a food court drinking OJ.

John nods back politely. He figures he can pull his weapon in one motion if need be. "And you are?" He already knows the answer. He just wants to hear it out loud.

"I have many names." Sam listens attentively but he can't place the accent. It's not Jamaican. Not Nigerian, either. "I am Kweku Anansi. Ananse. I am the son of Nyame and Asase Ya, husband of Aso."

Dean shakes his head. "You can stop being so formal. Dad, Sam, this is Aunt Nancy. Otherwise known as Spider."

John frowns. "Spider? The Trickster Anansi?"

Sam fairly sputters. "Dean, how do you…when did you…" For once Sam's at a loss for words.

Dean laughs.

Sam finally gets it together. "Uh, Dean? Why didn't you tell us about..umm…_this_?" Sam flinches as soon as he says it. _This?_ Dean rolls his eyes, and Sam gets his meaning: _Way to go, Sammy. Insult the ancient trickster dude, why don't you?_

Remarkably enough, Anansi doesn't take offense.

Dean shrugs. " 'cause you didn't ask me."

"I have to ask?" Sam sounds amazed.

"Yep. And even then I might not tell ya," Dean adds _sotto voce_.

Sam lightly cuffs him upside the head.

"Hey! Take it easy with that massive Sasquatch paw of yours, Francis."

"Been noticin' anythin' strange in the atmosphere lately?" Anansi quirks an eyebrow at them. "Flying objects of the bovine variety? I heard rumors 'bout it. Came ta see for myself."

"Whoa. Dude, you gotta work on your timing. We took care of _that_ about two hours ago."

Anansi frowns. "Did you now? That's not what I heard, Old Man."

Dean tilts his head slightly to one side. _"So. What'd you hear?"_ The inflection is pure Coyote.

Before Anansi can answer a vision of feminine beauty slinks up to the table, and even John stops and stares.

She's gorgeous. Tall, shapely, skin the color and smoothness of rich dark chocolate, a perfect round face framed by a waist-length mass of wavy coal back hair. Her image shifts, from those bejeweled royal blue robes that hug her body, to faded blue jeans and a light blue tee shirt in the next blink.

Dean looks up at her and smiles, and she smiles right back as he gets to his feet.

"I'd heard 'bout you, child. They were right. You're gorgeous, you are."

Anansi nods. "Oshun. The Winchesters. Dean, Samuel and John."

All three say hello as she smiles and nods at them.

Sam's already processing this bit of information. _Oshun. _The answer comes soon enough out of the Sam Winchester Encyclopedia of Weirdness database: _Oshun. Yoruba goddess of Love, Creativity, and Sensuality. _

_Sensuality,_ Sam thinks. _Oh yeah, that figures._

She sits down next to Anansi and Dean takes his seat again.

Coyote fades into thin air right next to Dean's feet. "Hello, darlin'."

"Hello, Céré." Her smile gets even brighter.

Nobody in the entire rest stop notices the oversized, perfect looking coyote as it pads over and sits down at the bejeweled feet of the Yoruba goddess.

She runs her fingers down Coyote's chest, massages his ears, strokes his neck. The Old Man grins like a loon.

Dean shudders. He fidgets and squirms in his seat. It takes both John and Sam a moment to realize that Dean's getting really, ah, worked up.

Dean Junior certainly does not mind. Neither does Coyote.

Coyote's eyes close. Oshun runs her long slim fingers through his fur slowly, sensuously. Dean's head moves in the same circular motion that Coyote's does. Dean's eyes glaze over. He finally stops himself and blinks.

"Uh…could you…" Dean clears his throat. He sounds a trifle…squeaky. "Could you stop doin' that?"

Anansi snorts out loud. Sam frowns, then shakes his head. John clearly wants to bust out laughing but he reins himself in with a visible effort.

A slight blush colors Oshun's perfect cheekbones as she looks at Dean. She pulls her hand back from Coyote. "I'm sorry, sweetie. You got that whole furry thing going on here."

"Hey," Coyote grumbles, "I didn't say you could stop."

Dean reaches out with his mind and thumps Coyote upside the head.

_Oww! What the hell was that for?_

_They usually call her The Modest One._

_Not with me. Fur is her kink._

_Isn't she Shango's girlfriend? His, uh, consort?_

_Well, yeah. Never stopped us before._ Coyote sniffs loftily. _It's an open relationship._

_Yeah, I bet. Well, I'm not gonna get my ass fried by a lightning bolt from the African God of Thunder just because of you. Put a leash on it, Old Man. _

Oshun puts her hands on the table instead as Coyote sits there with his ears lowered slightly. He grumbles something underneath his breath about Dean pulling the stick out of his a--

_What was that?_ Dean snarls ominously.

_Hmph. Nothing._

Anansi shrugs. "As one trickster to another, Roamer, watch your back."

"You came all this way just to tell us that?" Coyote snaps. Anansi ignores him.

"I couldn't find out the _who_, but I know the _how_. This thing with the flying bovines is not over. Be careful out there."

"Gee, Spider," Coyote drawls lazily. "Didn't know you cared."

"I don't. You still owe me, remember?" One of the hands comes up and for added emphasis points directly at the Old Man. "And permanently dead tricksters can't repay debts."

"Oh." Coyote's ears droop, just a little.

Oshun smiles brightly at Dean. "Well, goodbye. It was nice meeting you."

All Sam remembers is that they all mumbled something politely stupid as Oshun and Anansi disappear in the blink of an eye.

Dean sits there and eyes Coyote. "So. You owe him, huh? For what?"

"That was a long time ago." Coyote grins sheepishly. "I paid him. He -- he just forgot."

"Uh huh. Yeah." Dean gets up, jiggling his girl's keys in his right hand.

"You didn't have to cut, uh, whatever that was short on our account. The three of you could've gotten a room. Sam and I could ah, find something to do for the rest of the day. And night, even." John shrugs, and his eyes go kind of blank, like he's trying real hard to not to imagine what would go on in the motel room. "Something."

"Dad…" Dean shakes his head. Sam snorts. Loudly.

John shrugs. "I'm just saying."

_Listen to him, niño._ Coyote rumbles softly. _I could call her back._

_I don't do threesomes, dude._

_I like the way John thinks._

_Shut uppp… _

_**000**_

Five minutes and fifty miles down the highway later John's cell phone goes off.

"Hey, Bobby."

"Just wanted to check on you boys. Keepin' out of trouble, huh?"

John grins. "Yeah. We are."

They hear mooing at first. It's faint, barely noticeable over the rumble of the Impala's engine on the highway

The sun's blotted out as something dive-bombs the Impala. Dean has excellent lane control and doesn't waver, but playing chicken with his girl while Dad and Sam are around is pissing him off.

In the back seat Sam leans forward and stares as the object gains altitude. It's a black and white jersey cow, and the poor thing is bug-eyed with fear, legs waving madly as it rises into the air.

"I gotta go, Bobby," John says distantly. "We got cows."

"Cows? What the f—" John snaps his cell shut.

Sam quirks an eyebrow at Dean. "Dean, you know what that is?"

"Do I know – why, of course I do. It's the beef council expressing their thanks for our support." Dean growls harshly. "It's a damned cow, am I right?"

The cow rushes back directly at the car, and for a moment the windshield's filled with the onrushing spectacle of 1800 pounds of flailing, panic-stricken airborne beef on the hoof.

"Son of a bitch--" Dean jags the Impala to the left, and the cow hits the ground behind them in a cloud of dust and concrete chips.

_Not over yet,_ Coyote whispers softly. _Right, go right --_

Dean does, just in time to avoid another large object that plows into the space the Impala was in only seconds before. He puts up a shield to deflect the flying gravel and debris as his girl fishtails off the shoulder of the road and comes to a stop on the opposite side of the highway.

They sit there for a long minute. There's no other traffic on the road this time of day, and that's a miracle in and of itself. The Impala sits encased in a shield on all four sides. If that tractor trailer that crashed into her two years ago that night came along now, it would bounce right off. As it is, it's _still _friggin' nerve-racking to sit there like that.

The dust cloud settles after another minute or so, and they finally get their first real good look at the unidentified flying object.

It's a cow. A big white one this time.

Only thing is, the cow's not alone. It's stiff, all four legs sticking straight up into the air, just like all the others they'd seen in the past week or so, but its inside the wreckage of a trailer rig, attached to the remains of a dark blue F-150 pick up.

"Son of a bitch," John whispers softly.

"Huh," Dean says dryly as the dust settles. "I think they just traded up."

_**000**_

Depending on where I decide to put the chapter breaks, we have two more chapters of bovine inspired insanity to go.


	3. everything but the kitchen sink

_**A/N:**_ Well, I see I have touched a nerve with this bovine inspired insanity. Thank you all!

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own the boys. And I don't hate cows. Really.

* * *

**_Part 3 - everything but the kitchen sink_**

Time to go to ground, hole up, re-group. They make it out to the middle of nowhere, take refuge in a cabin that Coyote and Dean create out of thin air. They can't go into the populated areas, not with all the shit this thing is throwing at them. Ten minutes after the F-150 and that white cow hits the ground a Holstein and a Jersey cow bounce off the shielding around the Impala.

And it pisses Dean off to no end that somehow Sam the ultimate geekboy can tell the difference between the two types. "You been up to somethin' in your spare time that you'd like to share with the class, Sammy?" Dean leers, and he waggles his eyebrows for full effect.

Coyote barks laughter, and John snickers.

The cabin's shielded, of course, large enough to accommodate the Impala inside. Dean's not about to leave his girl at the mercy of whatever the hell that is outside. Once everyone's inside safe, they have the usual argument then. Winchester drama all around. Coyote and Dean want to evac John and Sam, get them out of harm's way, to Bobby's, or to Ellen at the Roadhouse. Sam gets that tight-jawed look he always gets whenever Dean goes into his "I know what's best for the family" mode.

It's especially irritating now that he has Coyote to back him up.

John just looks at Dean with a mixture of affection and frustration. "We're not going anywhere, Dean."

Dean growls under his breath and Coyote does the same.

Of course, there's always the chance that either Coyote or Dean would transport John and Sam's stubborn asses out of harm's way anyway. It's happened before, and it could probably still happen again. John watches his eldest son and his trickster half pace back and forth. They're both getting a little too worked up. They growl each time something hits the ground outside. They might listen to him only so far before their patience runs out.

Coyote paces the floor. So does Dean, in the opposite direction. Sam and John are pretty sure they're not even aware that they both have the same tight-lipped expression on their faces, the same angry bob of the head.

Dean wants to kill this fugly. He _needs _to. Whatever the hell this is threatens his family, and he wants to kill it, rip out its balls (if it has any) force-feed them to it, kill it stone cold eternal dead, resurrect the damn thing after it dies, and do it all again.

Cheerfully.

Coyote's hackles are raised and his tail is bushed out. It's obvious he feels the same way.

It's fascinating to watch, and Sam can't decide what he wants to look at, Dean and Coyote or the action taking place outside.

"Moooo"…**SPLAT.**

Sam glances out of the window just as a medium-sized brown and white Abondance dairy cow bounces off the shield and hits the ground in a cloud of dust and dirt.

_Hmmm. French cow,_ Sam thinks.

A pair of Red Poll heifers come in for a bad landing next.

"Mooooooo"…**DOUBLE SPLAT.**

Holstein, Brown Swiss, Guernsey, Jersey, Red Holstein…name the cow, and it comes raining down from the sky.

"Mooo"… **SPLAT.**

Sam's pretty sure that if Dean ever gets his hands on whoever's responsible, the word _carnage_ won't even begin to cover it.

"Mooo"… **SPLAT.**

Two minutes later a large shadow falls over the cabin, blotting out the sun and part of the sky. There's no noise, no bellow of fear and surprise. This is something new.

"Now what?" Dean looks up, practically snarling.

When the thing hits the ground shakes and rumbles from the last impact. It sounds like a repeat of the pick-up truck, but heavier. Way heavier.

John and Coyote join Sam and Dean at the window. The dust cloud settles, and they see this huge leg sticking up out of the ground. It's the right shape, but the wrong color.

It's bronze. It's too big to be a friggin' normal sized cow.

"What the hell…" It's the few times in life that John Winchester actually looks puzzled.

Sam gets it first. He actually turns a little pale. "Umm…that's the Merrill Lynch bull."

"The..what?" Dean sputters.

"Merrill Lynch. Wall Street. This statue is in front of their building." Sam shrugs. "At least, it was…"

"Wait a minute." Coyote lays his ears back. "So you're telling me this sonofabitch is throwing commercial icons at us now?"

"Yep."

"Huh." Dean, John and Coyote say it all at the same time.

_**000**_

John's cell goes off. "Yeah?"

"So you got cows, huh?" Bobby sounds pissed.

"Yeah. Bobby? What--"

"A black and white Holstein just crash-landed out back. Damn thing wrecked this truck I was working on and scared the hell outta my dogs. What's going on, John?"

"We're right in the middle of this thing, Singer. We don't know what's going on yet."

Dean's cell goes off.

"Hello? Ellen?"

"Dean? You boys nearby? I got something strange I wanna show you."

Dean freezes. "Don't tell me, let me guess. Falling cows?"

"Yeah. Not plural. Just one. How'd you--"

"Lucky guess. Anybody hurt?"

"Well, no. It took out a section of the parking lot." Dean could almost see her shrug over the phone."Didn't hit anyone."

"Okay. Uh, don't go outside, okay? Stay inside. Keep everyone inside until I call you back."

Sam's cell goes off.

"Oh. Hi! Uh…yeah. I know. Cows. Yep. Uh huh. No, just stay inside, okay? We're working on it. I'll call you back."

Coyote, John and Dean each quirk their eyebrows at him.

"Who was --"

"Rebecca, Dean."

"Rebecca." Dean says slowly. "As in Rebecca in St. Louis. St. Louis, Missouri Rebecca."

"Uh huh."

"Son of a bitch!" Dean explodes. "This bastard knows more about us, and we don't know jack about his sorry ass. How the hell could this possibly get any worse?"

Sam looks out the window just then. "Uh, dude. It just did."

"What?" Dean stares out the window and he freezes.

One by one, the cows pull themselves out of the craters, which is a pretty neat trick considering that they are just as dead as doornails and mangled dead. Necks, backs and legs are broken, heads hang at awkward angles, but they get up and move around with stiff, jerky motions.

The cabin is soon surrounded by freakin' zombie cows. They mill around the edges of the shield, and they all have the same goofy look on their faces. That is, if they still have a face left after all that. Some of them landed pretty hard.

It's obvious something is pulling their strings all at the same time. It's also obvious they can't get in. Several of them bump up against the invisible shielding and they're pushed back without much effort.

Once Dean sees _that_ he crosses the room and is out the door in three strides. Coyote's right beside him. Sam and John are right behind.

The black and white Jersey cow with the crushed cowbell around its neck smiles at him. "Hello, Wil-burrr. I'm Mr. Ed."

Dean scowls. "Dude, not only is this sick as hell, you got the wrong damn species. Mr. Ed was a horse."

Coyote's growling under his breath so deeply it's felt more than heard.

"Nowhere to run, Wil-burrr," the cow rumbles. "Nowhere to hide."

"What the hell do you want?"

The answer comes from all around.

"You," that undead Holstein rumbles.

"Smashed flat as a pancake," the Red Poll heifers squeak out.

"Begging for mercy," what's left of the British White flaps its ears.

"Just a little thing, really," the Brown Swiss chirrups.

"Leave your family and come with us, Wil-burr," the Jersey grumbles. "We won't hurt them."

"Think I'm gonna believe you about that?" Dean snarls.

"No choice. Put some fire in you, boy." Dean stares angrily at the Holstein like he would dearly love to wring its already broken neck. "Keep those shields up."

John's not surprised when he's suddenly frozen in place. He hears a sharp intake of breath from Sam, but he doesn't have to turn around to know that Sam's frozen too. It's Dean's doing. Boy's always had a damn martyr complex.

Dean and Coyote fade out, only to appear outside the shielding, surrounded by several undead cows.

Inside his head John curses up a blue streak.

_**000**_

The shadow stands in the pasture nearby and laughs. This has been a lot of fun so far, and it's just getting started. It has so many heavy blunt objects to throw at that mangy mutt, and all the time in the world.

* * *

Next update this Saturday. I think this one will be five chapters after all. Don't worry, Phoebe. HurtDean and HurtCoyote is in the next chapter. How could I forget that?


	4. a change will do you good

_**Part 4 - a change would do you good**_

_**A/N:**_ Oops! Forgot that I promised to post this one Saturday. Well it's still Saturday, at least it is where I am. Chapter title from the Sheryl Crow song of the same name. There's Hurt Dean and Hurt Coyote in this one. Enjoy!

_**Disclaimer:**_ _I _know I don't own 'em. _You_ know I don't own 'em. Must you torment me with that cruel knowledge?

* * *

The zombie cows arrange themselves in a circle as Dean and Coyote walk along. Dean sneezes explosively several times. Damn things reek.

"Knew you were gonna make the right decision, Deano." The Holstein grins crookedly. That voice grates on Dean's last nerves, and his hand curls up into a fist. He stops, turns around, and his right hand flashes out like a piston, catching the critter right between the eyes.

"Nobody but family calls me that."

Zombie Holstein staggers a little bit. Dean's fist leaves the imprint of his knuckles in its skull. The tendons in its neck loosen and little, and its head hangs down at a steeper angle.

Coyote rolls his eyes. "Don't tell me, lemme guess. This is the part where you start braggin' about how you're going to kick our asses?"

The dead British white flaps its ears. "Smartass like you takes the fun out of something like this, Old Man."

"Yeah. Whatever," Coyote snaps. "Why don't you come out and tell us to our faces? Quit hidin' behind dead meat and show yourselves?"

The undead Jersey cow snickers. "How stupid do you think I am?"

Dean narrows his eyes. "You_ really_ want me to answer that one?"

The Brown Swiss whirls and lashes out with both its hind legs. Dean catches the blunt of it in his chest and the impact slams him back into the side of the nearest Red Poll zombie heifer.

Coyote flinches. He pads over and sits down next to Dean. "Kid. You okay?"

Dean tries not to breathe too deeply as he takes inventory. "Yeah. I'm golden." He's got two busted ribs now. Damn. "Cute and adorable."

The two Red Poll undead heifers snort in derision.

"I know about you two," Zombie Holstein huffs. "You've been casting around trying to find me, and you can't."

Dean holds his hand to his side, as he wills the injury to heal. "Bite me," he snarls as he gets back on his feet.

"Maybe later. If you could find me, we wouldn't be havin' this conversation. Come on, Dean, you're pretty, but you're not as dumb people think you are. We're wastin' daylight here. Think I'm gonna give you enough time to find me? Think again." The Holstein shakes its head. "Here's the deal, kids. There's something I want you two to steal for me."

"What?" Dean stares at him.

"You heard me. I got your attention now."

"You went to all this fuckin' trouble just to have us steal something for you?"

Zombie Holstein inclines its head at Coyote. "Your boy's really not all that bright, is he?"

Dean growls.

"She got taken away from me, and I want her back."

"So it's a she. Someone. We do this or what?" Coyote snarls.

"Or I'll visit all your family, your friends. That little feline girl you're so fond of, Coyote. Thomas and Bertha out in New Mexico. That Cassie Robinson. Oh, she's a sweet one, huh? Lisa Braeden. Another cutie, and her son, Ben."

Dean scowls, and the dead beef thing laughs.

"Lucas and Andrea Barr. Everyone you ever saved. All your friends. And let's not forget Sam and John. Bobby Singer, and Ellen Harvelle."

Dean stands there glaring, and if looks could kill all of those zombie cow bastards would be coyote chow. He could do it. Kill them with a look, but that would only take care of these meatsuits, not the bastard behind the scenes pulling the strings.

"Now if you two crazy kids do this one little thing for me, then I'll go away. You'll never see me again, never hear from me again. I'll leave you and yours alone, now and forever. Well?"

Coyote and Dean say it both at the same time. "Bring it, bitch."

_**000**_

"I don't freaking believe this," Dean hisses as they walk along minutes later.

"Hey look, I know this isn't what you signed up for…" Coyote takes a misstep occasionally, nearly trips over his own feet. This body is too chunky, too awkward.

And he hates that damn bell around his neck.

"Oh, it isn't? You really _sure_ about that? Let me recap past events for you." Dean swings his head from side to side. He's having trouble getting used to all that added weight, and it's royally pissing him off.

"During the last eight hours we've had just about every cow-related object known to mankind thrown at us by some psycho nutcase who knows more about us than we do about him. Dad and Sam are back at the cabin surrounded by a group of zombie cows and Psycho Boy picks us for a snatch and grab job." Dean shakes his head and tries his best to scowl. He really has to work at it this time. It's hard to overcome that sweet expression of his. "I just busted my shape-shifting cherry, and not by turning into something cool, _oh no_. A wolf. A German Shepherd. A black stallion. Even a cat wouldn't have been as bad as this."

"This is worse than that time I shifted into a female and had to wear high heels," Coyote grimaces. He tries not to move his neck so much, but nothing works. Friggin' bell won't stop ringing.

Dean stops and stares at him. "You did _what_?"

Coyote shrugs. "Never mind. Long story."

"Oh, yeah?" Dean snarls. "We got udders, Old Man." He's bow-legged as a human, but _this_ is freakin' ridiculous. Dean stands there pissed off and awkward and he's uncomfortable as hell and heavy besides and he needs to be milked, and crap, where the hell did that thought come from and he's damn glad Dad and Sam aren't here to see this. "We turned ourselves into freaking cows just to sneak into this damn place."

"You got any better ideas, young'un?" Coyote says mildly.

Dean lets out all the breath in those large lungs of his. "No." His nostrils flare as he picks up a familiar scent. A hated scent.

"No, no, no! This isn't working." Zombie Holstein walks up over the hill right up to them. It looks even worse than it did moments ago. Its neck hangs down twisted at a sideways angle. Looks like some of the tendons and ligaments are about to snap.

"Come on, boys. Sell it! You could put a little more swish in your walk, couldn't you? After all, you're two of the cutest looking black and white Holsteins I've ever seen. Dean, love those eyelashes of yours. Your looks translated, babe."

Coyote and Dean just stand there staring daggers at him.

"Fuck you," Dean growls at him, a very uncow-like sound.

"Well, you better get moving, boys. You got a schedule to keep, you know. You go in, get my girl out of that damn dairy herd, and you gotta do it by nightfall."

"What's this chick's name again?" Dean says flatly.

"Florabell."

"You're a sick bastard, you know that?" Coyote swishes at some flies buzzing around his head with his tail.

"I know. Ain't life wonderful?" the Holstein grins. Its eyes close and it slumps over onto its side onto the grass. Apparently the puppeteer is done with it at the moment.

Dean nudges it hard with one hoof. Nothing. "We better get moving."

"Why?" Coyote watches with satisfaction as he knocks several flies out of mid-air with one swipe.

Dean sighs. "'cause I feel like I wanna lay down in the grass and chew some cud."

_**000**_

It's never easy. Of course not. Stroll in, get Florabell, and stroll back out. They move across the pasture, and it's a little easier than before, getting the hang of walking with those damn udders between their legs.

Coyote knocks the clapper out of that damn cowbell. That's one problem solved, anyway.

Then they walk past the bulls and it's downhill from there.

"Hey baby! Do I have a chance?"

Dean grunts angrily.

"Just keep walking, kid," Coyote whispers.

"Aw sweetheart, don't be like that. Heaven must be missin' an angel 'cause you're down here walkin' all over my heart."

"Drop dead!" Dean calls out loudly. His voice comes out higher than usual and he flattens his ears against his skull. "Bein' hit on by cows, for cripes sake," he grumbles darkly. "Friggin' hamburger patties on the hoof –"

"Hey, darlin'! Can I go home with you?"

Damn, there's another one.

"Hell no!" Coyote yells out.

They both catch a glimpse of something large and dark moving at them from the six o'clock position. Dean swings his head in that direction and the bull stops dead in his tracks.

"Bonjour, madames."

"Dude. Could you be any more lame?" Dean deliberately makes his voice lower and smirks as the bull's eyes widen.

Dumb bastard doesn't give up, though. "Enchantèe."

"If that didn't work in the commercial I don't know why the hell you think that'll work now," Coyote snarks loudly.

The bull winks slyly at Dean. "Hey, sweetness. You're a Scorpio, aren't 'cha?"

Dean shakes his head and starts moving again.

They're halfway across the pasture, and things seem to be on the upswing. The other bulls lose interest and move away from them and that's just as well. Dean tries for that gunslingers' strut of his, but it's no good. He sways, he swishes, and it's fucking weird and he can't get it out of his head that he _wants _to be milked. By a sweet looking, fresh-faced busty Asian farm girl wearing pigtails, a tight red and white checked gingham blouse and painted on blue jeans.

He shakes his head to clear it. That doesn't work very well. He wants to find this Florabell heifer and get the hell out of this place.

He never would admit it, but he misses his Dad. He misses Sam.

He misses being human, and he misses his boys.

He senses something directly above their heads, and he doesn't even have time to react. It's fast and heavy, tons heavy. It blots out the sky and the sun and he doesn't even have time to warn Coyote.

Dean smells rubber, metal and gasoline. He looks up and sees two words: RED BULL.

And everything goes pitch black.

_**000**_

_Score! _

Oh, this was _good,_ too good to send one of those dead cows over to check it out. The shadow is so thrilled he damn near vibrates in place.

Two birds with one stone, and the stupid sonsabitches don't even know what hit them.

The shadow walks over to the delivery truck and it's a damn beautiful sight. Makes everything he went through worthwhile. All the pain, all the suffering, and now he just gave it all back.

The truck's half buried in the green pasture land. The doors crumpled on impact, exploding cans of Red Bull all over the landscape. The wheel on the driver's side spins slowly on the axle.

Red Bull might give you wings, but not this damn time.

The shadow magicks the truck away without any effort. It's nothing now, but it was pretty damn solid a minute ago. All that metal and steel shimmers away like a mirage in the desert, but the crater's still there, and the shadow giggles with glee as he catches a glimpse of the two twisted bodies half buried in the ground at the center.

Dean Winchester's eyes are half open, and he's still breathing. He's buried halfway, lying on his side. Dean's not looking so good. His skin's gone pale. The kid's eyes are glazed over, a washed out looking greenish brown color with a faint golden glow in the center of his pupils. He's bruised and bloodied all over. It's a beautiful sight.

Coyote lies half buried several feet away. The only sound in the crater is their labored breathing, hoarse and unsteady. They're both still alive, for the moment, and he doesn't intend for them to stay that way.

The shadow walks down into the crater and kneels directly between the two of them.

"Oh. Oh yeah. This is _sweet_. They said you look real pretty bruised like that, Dean. They were right."

Dean groans aloud, broken, defeated. His fingers twitch uselessly, and the shadow laughs.

"Now, here's the deal, fellas. I lied, okay? There is no Florabell. I just wanted to get you out here so I could drop the hammer on you. Now I want you to listen carefully. You're gonna die from this, but you won't stay dead. I know that. But, and here's the thing, if you two decide to stay dead, that would suit me just fine. I'd drop this rampage of mine, you know? Your family and friends will be safe. Yeah, I lied before, but I'm not lying now."

It crouches there for a moment, listens to the slowing heartbeats, the breath fading in each body.

Dean's lips move. "Who…who…are…"

"Who am I?" It laughs. "We never had the pleasure, Deano. Hell, I wouldn't have even come over here if it hadn't been for that old dog of yours. See, I did a number on another Dean Winchester, in another place, another time. Killed him dead for one hundred days, just to teach the Sam Winchester over there a lesson about hanging on and letting go. Your dog there saw it and decided he'd do onto me the way I did onto that other Dean. Wasn't any of his damn business." It lifts its head and glares at Coyote. "Nobody does _that_ to me. _Nobody_."

The shadow falls away, and Dean stares dully at the face of the trickster he and Sam hunted at Crawford Hall two years ago.

"Alternate Universes, Deano. The Old Man should have explained that to you before now. No hard feelings, kid. I don't dislike you, but if he goes you go. Too bad."

The trickster gets up, goes over to Coyote as he lies there gasping his last breath. "How you like me now, Old Man? Who's your Daddy?"

He gets an answer, but that arm around his throat isn't what he expects.

"Hello, dumbass," Dean snarls. "Who's your daddy_ now_?"

_**000**_

_**A/N:**_ Well, one more to go. Will post the final one early Monday morning.


	5. nothin' but net

_**A/N:**_ Well, I did say Monday. Sorry that I couldn't pin down which Monday. RL is a needy witch, but as high as unemployment is in our town, I'm darned lucky to be working, so I certainly can't complain. Yes, this was the sequel to "Death By Golden Retriever." I want to thank everyone who lurked, and especially the folks who read and took the time to review. Nothing but love for ya! Pop culture references: Forgot to mention that the line "We got cows" was lifted from the movie _Twister_. Phoebe is to blame for the Schiltz malt liquor reference. She has no shame, that's why I love her! Chapter title is taken from those Michael Jordan, Larry Bird McDonalds' commercials.

_**Disclaimer:**_ _I_ know I don't own them. _You _know I don't own them. Must you torment me with that cruel knowledge?

* * *

_**Part 5 –nothin' but net **_

Coyote pulls himself out and shakes the dirt out of his fur, head to toe, in one fluid motion.

"You gotta let me go, Old Man," the AU trickster smirks. Bastard's wrapped from his neck to his ankles in bright shiny duct tape marked with blue containment sigils, but it doesn't stop him from being a complete arrogant ass.

Dean tightens his grip on the fug's neck and shakes him like a disobedient puppy. The trickster glares at him. "You can't kill me."

"He's right, you know," Anansi says solemnly, from behind. "You can't kill him."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Been here long, Spider?"

"Long enough." Anansi steps into bright sunshine out of thin air, still dressed in those resplendent midnight black robes with the silver webbing. His eyes narrow as he takes it all in. "He's not even from around here," Anansi murmurs, more to himself than the others.

"Stood there watching all that time, and you never thought about giving us a hand, huh?" Dean keeps his tone light, but there's an edge in his voice.

Anansi shrugs, then starts clapping all six hands.

Coyote snarls at Anansi.

Dean scowls. "Cute. Real cute."

_**000**_

Back at the cabin John seriously considers pulling his pistol from his back waistband and using several of the sonsofbitches for target practice, like that annoying light brown one with the flappy ears.

John doesn't know why, but he can't stand that particular bastard.

"Uh, Sam? What's the name of that big brown one over there?"

"Umm…Brown Swiss."

"Huh. And that one over there?"

"Jersey cow," Sam answers calmly. At least, he _tries_ to sound calm. Sam hates being stuck here just as much as John does. Pointing out the different features and breeds seems to distract him, so John lets him have at it.

John nods over to the left. "And that one?"

"That's a Guernsey. Comes from the British Channel Island of Guernsey…"

Sam rattles off stats about the fat content of the milk, and traits desirable to farmers, and John somehow manages to keep a straight face.

_My youngest son knows about nearly every breed of cow known to mankind. Why? I don't wanna know,_ John tells himself quietly. _I really, really don't._

John stands there rubbing his palms on the thighs of his jeans. He wants to blow off steam, wants to kill something, and he would too, if he wasn't sure that the rounds would just ricochet off the shield. He hates feeling useless, under siege by a herd of damn zombie cows, no less.

This one might not make it into the journal.

John blinks, and that's the measure of the thing. There's that familiar sensation of sliding sideways, and in the blink of an eye he finds himself standing beside Sam in a sunlit pasture somewhere else.

John glances behind him; the cabin's gone. His eyes narrow a little at the sight of the crater on the left, and he doesn't let his guard down when he sees Anansi standing there, but Coyote's there too, relaxed and easy, so John untenses a little.

Sam stops and stares when he sees the man cocooned in duct tape from his chin to his feet, standing next to Coyote.

There's a slight tickling sensation inside both their heads, familiar and just as snarky and irritating as can be.

_Ah'm back!_

As usual, Sam doesn't laugh. It's the lousiest Ahnald imitation either one of them's ever heard.

It's the most beautiful thing both of them have heard in the last twenty four hours.

"Hey, Samantha," Dean says from behind. "Did ya miss us?"

Best part about it is, they can hear the grin in his voice before they ever lay eyes on him. It's bright and cheerful, full of relief and downright glee. It's infectious. John relaxes all the way and Sam grins a little, even when Dean reaches out and tousles that Sam's shaggy mop of dark hair.

They don't hug. Oh hell no, they don't. Not in front of outsiders. Family's back together again, and all's right with the world, at least for right now, this moment.

Coyote trots over with the same slightly goofy, happy grin on his face. He walks around them in a circle, rubs up against Sam and John's legs, steps over their feet, more cat-like than dog like, but the Old Man doesn't give a damn. By the time he heads back to Anansi and that AU trickster Coyote's head is up, his ears are prickled and he's got the look of being all about business.

Anansi stares at Coyote and the Winchesters intently. Coyote narrows his eyes, scowls a little. "What?" he barks.

Anansi shrugs. "Nothing, Old Man."

"Couldn't start the party without you," Dean says cheerily as they walk over. The trickster glares at all three of them.

John huffs. "So, this is the bad guy, huh?"

"Yep," Dean nods.

"Doesn't even have a name," Coyote purrs. "Damn amateur."

"Big John Winchester," the trickster grins as he looks John up and down. "Gee, I thought you'd be taller."

John scowls at him and the trickster laughs. "Aw, don't be like that, Johnny. My original plan was to wipe all three of you off the face of the planet. Nothing personal." The trickster raises his chin and smirks. "That's just the kinda guy I am."

"What was the deal with all the cows?" Sam demands angrily.

"Heh. Had you goin' there, didn't I?" the trickster's sneer gets even deeper. "Well, this has been about two days of my immortal life that I'll never get back. It's been fun. NOT. You chumps have to let me go."

Coyote grins wolfishly. "The hell we do. We can't _kill_ you, dumbass, but there's nothing in the rule book that says that we can't make your life a living hell."

"None of this would have happened if it hadn't been for you, Old Man," the trickster spits out. "You should have minded your own damn business. You came over into_ my_ house and you interfered." He jerks his head over at Coyote. "Bet he didn't tell you any of _that_, now did he?"

"Yeah, he did," John says mildly. Sam and Dean nod in agreement.

"He…he what?" The trickster's eyebrows raise up towards his hairline in complete surprise. Even Anansi looks shocked.

"He told us all about that other Dean Winchester. You killed him for one hundred days, am I right?" John leans forward, gets right in his face, and the trickster jerks back. John's grin is just as wolfish as Coyote's. "Buckle up, princess. You're gonna be here for a while."

_**000**_

The Red Bull delivery truck re-appears five minutes later. The splat's satisfying and the crater's damned impressive but after the third time Coyote shakes his head. "I don't know about you," he says to the others after they retrieve the trickster out of the crater, "but this tossing thing is getting kinda old. Real old, real fast."

John, Sam and Dean grumble agreement.

John gets this mischievous gleam in his eye. "Boys," John says quietly, and all four of 'em go into a huddle as John whispers something only they can hear.

Coyote, Sam and Dean look puzzled.

John nods. "Trust me on this, will ya?"

So they do.

One blink later The trickster finds himself sitting at a table in this tavern somewhere. He's the only one in the place. He doesn't recognize anything around him, but there are no Winchesters around, no mangy mutt either, and that's all right with him. He could go the rest of his immortal life without laying eyes on those sumbitches or that bastard Anansi.

The trickster picks up the can of beer on the table in front of him. Huh. Schlitz. He's never heard of it, but there's a big black bull with horns on the label, and he smirks at the sight of it. He doesn't feel anything special or magical about the can. Probably their feeble way of giving him the finger for the cow thing. They can't keep him, and they can't kill him, so screw them.

He smirks as he cracks open the can, pours it into the glass and takes a sip. The malt liquor is nice and cold, really smooth going down.

He has just enough time to realize that he's been punked.

The wall behind him crashes inward and this huge black longhorn Brahma bull muscles its way through the flying debris.

Two thousand pounds of enraged bull versus one hundred fifty pounds of depowered trickster really is no contest.

They hit the rewind button on _that _one about eight times, then decide to go for an even ten. Each time the trickster hits the brick wall in the tavern, all spreadeagled out like roadkill, he makes a different pattern in the smashed bricks.

It reminds Sam of snow angels.

"Damn, that was a blast from the past." Dean's impressed.

"It's a classic," John nods. "Used to watch that commercial on TV. It never gets old."

Sam's fascinated. He always has been intrigued about Trickster powers, altering the molecular structure, materializing things out of thin air. He's tried to get Dean to talk about how it feels. That's like pulling teeth. Even though he's got the most unique vocabulary Sam's ever heard, Dean claims that he's not that good with words.

Sam knows that's not true.

Dean goes on instinct. He's damn good at visualizing things. Coyote, well, he's Coyote, and Sam realized months ago that Coyote never was one for explaining things either, so Sam stands there and takes it all in. It goes into his mental file marked _Coyote/Dean_.

Dean's standing over there with his hand clamped around the trickster's neck. The trickster's looking no worse for wear; he's healed up quite nicely. It's a better deal than he gave those cows he was tossing all over the place. Sam suddenly feels bad about_ that_. Those cows were minding their own business, grazing, being peaceable, before that idiot came along.

Coyote pads by, his head down, ears pricked, and those eyes of his go greenish-gold. Sam looks up and sees Dean's eyes glow with the same golden spark.

A few seconds later Sam hears mooing and cowbells all around them.

The Red Poll heifer twins walk by first. They're alive and whole, frisky, full of life. They're followed by the British White, the Guernsey, the Brown Swiss, hell, every dead cow they've seen for the last two days. They head down the hill for the pasture, mooing and kicking up their heels, joyful, glad to be alive.

Zombie Holstein brings up the rear, but she's a zombie no longer. She flicks her tail at some flies and shakes her head vigorously. Her cowbell rings out, loud and clear.

Sam stutters. "D-did you guys--"

Coyote sits down on his haunches and does a really bad job of looking innocent.

Dean shrugs. "Wasn't their fault, Sammy. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time, that's all." His voice is quiet, thoughtful.

The trickster sneers. "Aw, ain't that cute? That's the difference between me and you, kid. You're soft. You don't have the balls for it, and you just proved my point by wasting the power you have on a herd of damn cows."

"It was fun killing that other Dean Winchester." The trickster tilts his chin up at Dean. "Over and over again. He screamed like a girl, he peed himself. Did you know that?"

Dean looks at the sky overhead and his eyes take on a wicked golden glint.

"Off the Golden Gate bridge, over the Grand Canyon, through the Gateway Arch, off the Sears Tower, nothing but net," he calls out loud and clear.

The trickster looks puzzled.

He goes from zero to two hundred miles an hour in twelve seconds as Dean throws him up into the air and cuts the lines of gravity all around him. The trickster's a blur as he rockets straight up into the sky. The bastard's shrieking, high and thin, like a car alarm.

"Did he scream like that?" Dean says out loud as he tracks the screaming object with his eyes.

John and Sam look puzzled. Coyote grins like a loon. "The Mystery Spot."

The light dawns for John and Sam.

John chuckles. "That's my boy."

Sam's speechless.

Inside their heads Sam and John see everything that Coyote and Dean see. Dean calls each shot right on target, and the trickster drops into the Broward County mystery spot still screaming like a big old girl as the wormhole swallows him up.

"_Oh. Ohhh_." Coyote staggers sideways a few steps. "You gotta give me a minute. Kid…that…that was_ beautiful_," he gushes.

Dean puts his palms together, elbows out straight, and bows, slow and elegant. "It's zen, grasshopper. The student has surpassed the master."

"You two are a real piece of work, you know that?" Anansi says drily.

Dean stands there for a moment, absently rubbing his stomach with his right hand. ""We gotta celebrate. I'm thinkin' BBQ. And pie."

The cow formerly known as Zombie Holstein moos at him. Loud and long, full of disapproval.

Sam didn't know cows could roll their eyes.

_**000**_

Epilogue's next, on Wednesday._ This_ Wednesday, smartass. It's a party, Winchester style.


	6. yeah, but, but, it's PIE!

_**A/N:**_ And apparently the site doesn't like those little periody thingies, either. Oh well. Yeah, I was supposed to post this Monday, but I decided to add a little more, and the chapter kept growing. And growing. As Maxwell Smart would say "Missed it by _that_ much." I have no excuse. Also: Bear is a kachina who was in _Dog Eat Dog_. Bear also looks exactly like actor Michael Clarke Duncan ("The Green Mile").

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own any of the characters in this story, and I'm not very happy about it, either.

* * *

**_Part 5 yeah, but…but…it's PIE!_**

The back lot's a piece of land that Bobby decided to hold onto all these years. It's warded, just like the rest of Bobby's place. The lot's surprisingly uncluttered, about half an acre all total. A tall wooden privacy fence shields it from the outside world, not that Bobby has any neighbors who are near enough to complain about the noise anyway. "I use it for special occasions," Bobby said slyly when asked, a wicked gleam in his eyes. He's got three wooden picnic tables back there, and a handmade brick grill large enough to barbeque a buffalo.

"Dude's a regular Martha Stewart. Who knew?" Dean gives Sam a brotherly poke in the arm as they sit on the grass, their backs against the fence. "Go on over there, Sammy. Use those patented Sam Winchester puppy dog eyes of doom and get Bobby to give you a sample. I dare ya."

"Nope. You go." Sam says warily.

"Nuh uh."

"_Nuh uh?_ Ya big baby."

There's fire, smoke and steel all around Bobby right now. He looks determined, dangerous even, and God help anyone who gets in his way.

Coyote comes trotting out of the salvage yard. He heads unerringly for Bobby's table, smirking, happy, totally unsuspecting, drawn by the smoke and smells.

"Uh oh." Sam shakes his head.

"Watch this," Dean says confidently. "Bet he'll make off with half a rib at least." The Old Man pricks his ears as he sits down in front of the table. "He shoots--"

Bobby turns around and fixes the Trickster with a withering glare that could peel paint.

Coyote backs away. He makes a conscious effort not to put his tail between his legs, but his ears are pinned back and his mouth is drawn into a tight line. He's one dejected looking pup.

"-- he misses," Sam drawls.

Dean groans. "Damn."

"If your better half couldn't make it, what chance do you think I'd have?"

"Better half, huh? Hmph."

The Old Man slinks over to the table where John and Ellen are sitting. Ellen has some kind of snack bag on the table, and she smiles and gives Coyote a piece of whatever's in the bag. Coyote wolfs it down and his tail lifts up slightly. He gives a slight wag as he stands there and he eats about four more pieces before Bobby glances up and Ellen hurriedly folds the bag in half and slips it into her pocket.

Dean sniffs.

"What?"

"I smell bacon," Dean says, frowning. His eyes glow soft golden for a moment. Dean fills his right hand with this brightly colored bag. He sniffs the air as he takes a piece of whatever the hell this is out of the bag, looks at it and bites it in two.

Sam's eyes widen as he leans over and looks at the logo on the bag. "Dude. You do realize that you're eating Beggin' Strips, right?'

Dean's eyes get kind of vague and unfocused as he very clearly savors the taste. "Uh huh. Yeah." He comes a little more alert and his expression brightens. "It's bacon, Sammy."

"No, it isn't."

Dean shrugs. "Whatever." He offers the bag. "Want some?"

"Ah, no. No." Sam shakes his head. He's really not that surprised. Back when Sam thought Dean was "normal" Dean was a bottomless pit anyway. Peanut M&Ms, burgers, eggs, bacon, cheeseburgers, Dean would eat practically anything that wouldn't try to eat him first…well, except for that fiasco in that French restaurant that time.

Snails? _Oh hell no._

Nothing's changed all_ that_ much. _Really._

Coyote makes a somewhat dignified retreat for the back gate leading into the salvage yard. Dean knows the furball's actually had a pretty rocky relationship with his fellow canines sometimes, that whole "hunted by dog packs" thing back in the day, but as usual, that doesn't stop Coyote from being friendly with Bobby's dogs, especially Condie and Rumsfeld2.

Dean hears this high-pitched, Stepford-cheerful female canine voice ("Absolutely. Yup, yup, you betcha!") and he doesn't even allow himself to wonder what Roamer has gotten himself into.

Sam leans back against the fence. "Did you, uh, take care of Rebecca? With the thing about the cow, and the damage to her house?"

"Yep. Place is as good as new, just like the parking lot at the Roadhouse." Dean looks at Bobby and shrugs. "Everything's fine. Bobby had cleaned up most of it before I could get to him."

"Thanks."

"_De nada._ Hey, Sam, you wanna invite Rebecca to our little soireè here?"

"No." Sam shakes his head, careful not to look Dean in the eyes.

"Why the hell not?"

"I…I just don't want to."

Now that the thing with the cows is over with Sam can feel himself trying to go for a little Sammy angst, and he decides against it. He's _not_ normal. Turns out, never was. His family's not normal either. He missed out on normal back in Lawrence, Kansas. That was a limited time offer, boys and girls. That boat has _sailed_. Permanently.

Sam didn't miss that brief flash of what -- _hurt? disappointment?--_ on Dean's face when he turned Dean down about inviting Rebecca. If Sam had said "yes" Dean would have been gone to get her in a heartbeat, but there'd be too much to explain. Sam could see it now:

"_Hi, Sam." Rebecca looks around all wide-eyed. "Uh…so how've you been?"_

"_Oh, fine."_

"_Uhm, you never told me that Dean could, umm…"she does a handflap with her right hand. "I really don't even know how I got here, Sam."_

_Sam shrugs. "It's a long story, Bec."_

"_Is that your Dad over there?"_

"_Yep. He was down south for a while."_

"_Oh. You mean Louisiana or something?"_

"_Further south than that."_

"_Oh. Florida?"_

"_Warmer than that."_

"_Oh."Rebecca looks confused. She spots Coyote and that's it, game over. _

"_Umm…Sam? Is that…a coyote over there?_

"_Uh, yeah."_

"_I've never seen a coyote that big before…"_

_Coyote strolls up to Rebecca, sits down at her feet and grins up at her. "Hello, darlin'." That leer, that voice, is pure Dean. "How the hell are ya?"_

_Sam catches Rebecca as she faints. _

No.

Just…no.

It's not that Sam's ashamed of his family. That might have been true at one time, but not now. It's…complicated. It's like nothing else in the world. This whole Dean Coyote thing is like this secret that Sam realizes that he wants to keep all to himself.

"…uh huh…." Dean's face goes suddenly, carefully blank. He reaches down and tugs out a handful of grass and idly pulls several stems of grass out of the clump.

Sam shrugs. Dean takes a deep breath, and what comes out of his mouth next is a total surprise. "Hey, look, I know today was nine kinds of crazy. I get it. You guys were targeted because of me and the Old Man--"

"Dean, you don't have to say-- "

"Yeah, I kinda _do,_ Sam. Let me finish, okay? None of this is what you and Dad signed on for. I know that. I wish it could be different, y'know? You guys are the most important people in my life. I want you to know that I_ get_ it, Sam. I really do."

Sam blinks. "Dude, you were totally rocking _'Wind Beneath My Wings'_ there."

"Damn right I was, Frances." Dean tries not to grin. "I spent all afternoon rehearsing this damn thing."

"You had me at 'hey, look'," Sam sniffs soulfully.

"Emo bitch."

"Macho jerk."

That's it. They're past the chick flick portion of the program. Dean has a plan for the rest of the evening, namely, eat, drink and be merry until he's senseless.

It's a damn good plan.

Sam glances over at Bobby and flinches a little at the sight and sound of flashing steel. "It's…it's almost primal," he murmurs.

"Yeah, but…" Dean blinks. "That apron kills the illusion, y'know?" He leans forward as he reads the inscription, and wonder of wonders, Dean says it all with a straight face: "I Saved The Pope's Ass From A Fate Worse Than Death and All I Got Was This Lousy Apron. Huh."

"Huh." Sam says thoughtfully. "Is that…is his hat color coordinated?"

"What?" Dean settles back comfortably. Another Beggin' Strip disappears into his mouth.

"I mean, is that a new hat he's got on?"

"Looks like the same old hat to me," Dean says with a slight frown.

"Don't the colors in the hat pick up some of the colors of the apron? The blues, and the greens..?"

Dean chews, slowly turns his head as he stares at his brother in horror. "I knew it all along. You're adopted."

Bobby goes over to one of those cardboard boxes he hauled out from the house. The old man was gruff when he carried the boxes out of the kitchen, brushed off all offers of help from Sam and Dean. Bobby even shooed Ellen away, so she briefly hugged each one of the boys, then she spotted John Winchester sitting at one of the picnic tables with a six pack and wisely excused herself. Bobby was in a mood already, and Ellen wasn't about to enrage the beast.

Dean suddenly goes on alert as Bobby takes several round covered dishes from the box. Dean lowers his head slightly, and his mouth twitches into what could only be described as a predatory smirk. "Damn," he breathes. "It's pie."

Dean closes his eyes, breathes in more deeply. "Blueberry and cherry and apple. He's got peach cobbler over there, Sammy!" The bag of Beggin' Strips disappears into thin air, right back into Ellen's jacket pocket.

Dean's quivering all over like a dog on a leash. Sam grins.

"Uh, Dean, last time I checked you can materialize all the pie you'd ever want out of thin air."

Dean gets up and rubs his hands on his jeans. "Yeah, but…but… it's _pie_!" Dean makes an ineffective handflap towards Bobby and the table, as though Sam should already understand what he means, and he's frustrated that Sam doesn't get it.

"Dean," Sam says with a smirk, "Bobby just ran Coyote off. What d'ya think he's gonna do when_ you_ walk over there?"

Dean grins. "Oh, me and Bobby are tight, Sammy. After all, it's _Bobby_. And _pie_. Who the hell knew he could bake pies like that?"

Sam doesn't look convinced. Not one bit.

The pies draw Dean over like a magnet.

Trickster avatar and veteran hunter stand there staring at each other for a moment. It's a stand-off. Bobby scowls at Dean, a sauce mop in one hand, a butcher knife in the other. Dean warily eyes Bobby's hands, like he can't decide which weapon is more dangerous.

"Something I can help you with, Junior?"

"Uh, no," Dean says uneasily. He practically sways in place. _Pie…_

"Then git."

Dean just stands there, looking.

Bobby quirks an eyebrow at him. "I said _git_, young'un. I'll call you when the food's ready."

"Bobby," Dean stammers, "you didn't have to do all this. We could've brought the food in already cooked-"

"I was looking for an excuse to fire up my grill, Winchester. You're steppin' on my toes now," Bobby growls under his breath.

He lifts that sauce mop in a vaguely threatening manner. Dean gits.

"Hi, sweetie," Ellen says warmly when Dean wanders over to the table.

"I wouldn't get near that old junkyard dog when he's like that," John drawls. He takes a bottle from the cardboard carton and hands it to Dean as a consolation prize.

Dean glances at the beer bottle in his hand, shrugs, uncaps it and takes a swallow. "It's not pie," Dean mumbles to himself.

John tries not to laugh, but it's a battle he's losing. He never would tell his eldest son this, but the kid's got one mean pout. Dean Winchester doesn't pout. He glowers.

Yeah. Riight.

"Ellen!" Bobby thunders.

Ellen rolls her eyes. All three heads turn in Bobby's direction. He's pawing around in that olive green duffel bag of his.

"What?" Ellen quirks an eyebrow at him.

"Where are my spices, woman?"

"Right where you left 'em, Robert Stephen Singer." Ellen waves her beer bottle at him. "Same place they were when you asked me ten minutes ago."

Bobby blinks. "Oh."

"You need some help there, Martha Stewart?" John drawls.

"No," Bobby calls out. "You'll just get in the way. No civilians allowed in here yet. And that includes no-account newly resurrected hunters who can't even operate a toaster."

John smiles, relaxed and kind of loopy. "Damn, that stings." He and Ellen grin at each other and click their bottles together.

"Pie," Dean grumbles darkly to himself.

Bobby ignores all their sorry asses.

_**000**_

When Bobby pulls the meat out of those boxes, Sam gets up without even realizing it and wanders over.

"Uh, Bobby?" Sam sidles up to the table, and the look on Bobby's face makes him suddenly feel all seven years old again. "Uh…Bobby? Where'd you get the meat?"

"What?"

"Remember you called us and you said that a cow landed in the yard and wrecked that truck and scared the dogs _andohmy GodIdidn'trealize--_" Sam stares rather fixedly at all the meat as his stomach does a slow queasy flip flop.

Bobby briefly considers showing Sam the receipt for the meat but decides against it just yet.

The look on the kid's face is _priceless_.

_**000**_

Bear shows up ten minutes later. With beer.

Neverending six packs of beer, two of 'em, as a matter of fact, and at first John and Ellen prepare to be polite, figuring that spirit beings don't know_ jack_ about beer. Ellen takes one swig and immediately feels her toes curl up.

It's the best damn beer she's _ever _had. _In life. _Less than three minutes later she stares at the empty bottle in her hand _as it fills right the hell back up_.

_Sweet Jesus…_

Bear has a six pack of something else, too.

Red Bull.

Dean just stares as Bear thrusts a can at him. "Dude. That's so _not_ funny."

"I thought it was funny," Bear says mildly. He doesn't even crack a smile.

_**000**_

"Four thousand years ago dinosaurs roamed the earth," the brown pit bull chirps cheerfully.

Coyote flattens his ears. "I was here," he says, scowling. "No, they weren't."

He can't figure her out. She's always got this damn grin on her face. She's a new one, and Coyote can't stand her.

"How come you smell like that Dean boy?"

"How come you ask so many damn questions?" Coyote snarls.

The pit bull gets up, grinning idiotically, and angles her nose around towards Coyote's butt.

Coyote swings around and stares at her. He lets the god part of him come out a little more, gets bigger in stature, and his green eyes go bright gold. "Sniff me and I'll hurt you so badly your ancestors will feel it."

Rumsfeld2 lumbers out from behind a pile of car seats, followed by Brownie, Cheney, and Condie.

"'m hungry," Cheney complains, yawning. He's the largest dog there, a huge shaggy reddish brown Saint Bernard/Chow mix. "Boss won't feed us until the food's ready."

Condie shakes her head. "Palin, knock it off." She sounds bored already.

Coyote grins and his tail starts wagging at the sight of Condie. Damn, she looks even better than the last time he saw her. She's his type: big black German shepherd, but then again, all females are Coyote's type.

Well, just about_ all_.

Out of the corner of his eye Coyote sees Palin grin and crouch down, ready to spring. He doesn't move when she leaps at him. Coyote's eyes flare bright golden and a loud popping sound splits the air.

Palin's gone, replaced by a large pink balloon animal twisted into the shape of a dog.

"Oh, I woulda gotten you that time, you betcha," the balloon dog chirps as it wavers from side to side in the air.

Coyote flinches and goes sideways, pushes up against the balloon dog and quickly hides it behind this old wreck of a school bus nearby as Bobby appears at the back gate as if by magic.

Everybody else looks around, trying their damndest to look as innocent as the day they were born.

Bobby growls. "What are you all doin' in there?"

"Nothing," Coyote calls out. He's got that same _Whome?Wellgoodevening,officer _expression that has earned Dean quality time again and again with law enforcement officials all over the country.

"Don't want you spoilin' your appetite, hear me? It's not time to eat yet."

Rumsfeld2, Cheney, Brownie and Condie bark and whine a little. _Nothing to see here, dude. Just us hounds, hanging out together. _

"Okay!" Coyote says, a little _too_ cheerfully. Bobby glares at him with the same _Iknowyou'reuptosomethingbutIjustdon'tknowwhatyet_ expression that Dean usually gets from law enforcement all over the country, and just like that, he's gone, back to the grill.

Coyote steps away and Palin bobs up into the evening air.

"Guess 'm goin' somewhere, huh?" she squeaks. Everybody ignores her. Coyote shrugs. She's brand new and obnoxious, and nobody's all that concerned about her situation.

An errant breeze catches Palin up, and she's caught in the branches of a tree nearby. "Hey, I can see Russia from up here."

Rumsfeld2 looks, then shakes his massive head. "It's okay. I never liked her either."

"I wanna burrito," Cheney grumbles.

Condie's stomach growls. Loudly.

"How many times a day does he feed you guys?" Coyote grumbles.

"Once." Rumsfeld2 sits down heavily.

"Hmph." Coyote stands there for a moment, and then his muzzle quirks up in a sly smirk. "Got a little trick I wanna show ya."

Brownie blinks. "The boss said for us not to eat anything. We promised."

Cheney pokes him with one massive paw, and Brownie frowns up. "Well, we _did._"

"Us canines gotta stick together," Coyote grins. "Besides, I had my paw crossed, so it doesn't count. Where's your food pan?"

Two minutes later: "You sure this will work?" Rumsfeld2 rumbles softly. He gestures over the empty food bowl with his raised right paw.

"I'm Coyote, dog," the Old Man huffs. "Damn right it'll work."

The food bowl fills with dry food. Condie and Rumsfeld2 plunge in face first.

Cheney gets his burrito.

"Damn!" Brownie stares at all the food in the bowl. "And you say this thing fills itself back up?"

"Yep ," Coyote smirks. "Once a day my furry brown ass."

_**000**_

_All things considered,_ John thinks to himself, _life is good._

He never thought it would be again. He'd made the deal, traded himself for Dean's life, wouldn't hesitate again if he had to do it all over again. Now here he was, out of the frying pan, so to speak, surrounded by the people he loved, Ellen, Bobby, Sam and Dean, even though he'd never admit it to Bobby, at least. Got a few more relatives this time around, what with the addition of Coyote and his side of the family.

And Ellen…well, John had actually been nervous about meeting her again. He hadn't seen her after what happened to Bill Harvelle, and John was pretty sure she never had forgiven him.

He was relieved to find out that he was wrong.

John takes another swig of Bear's beer…_pretty damn good stuff, who knew kachinas knew jack about beer? Damn –_ when he sees Coyote slink out of the back gate from the salvage yard. The Old Man's head is down and those eyes of his are blazing. John stares for a moment, and then he realizes that the trickster is deadly serious.

He's stalking somebody.

John follows Coyote's eyeline, and realizes that he's zeroed in on Bobby.

John turns, just in time to see that same intense look on Dean's face, that same bright golden glow in his eldest son's eyes.

Dean stands up. He and Coyote are parallel to each other, and they're both keyed in on Bobby standing at the grill.

_Shit…_

"Dean?" John raises his voice just a little. He hates like hell to use that command voice on Dean and Coyote, but he doesn't have any other options. Sam and Ellen stop and stare, and it doesn't help that now Bear is staring at Bobby with a reddish-orange glow in his eyes.

"Son? What's the matter?" John wants to joke, wants to say something like_, I know you're upset because Bobby wouldn't give you a taste, but this isn't funny._ John can feel the tension in the air.

Coyote growls, a soft rumble in the evening air, and Dean's eyes narrow. "He just took Bobby. Bastard thinks he can fool us, but he can't."

Bobby turns from the grill and laughs. There's an otherworldly glint in his eyes. "Well, hell," he snickers, and the sound is very un-Bobby-like. It raises the hair on the back of John's neck. "I took my shot."

Bobby's form shimmers like a heat mirage, and the trickster from Crawford Hall stands there wearing that stupid-ass apron. "Meat's almost done, anyway. Don't suppose I could stay and have a plate, huh?"

By this time Ellen, John and Sam are all on their feet.

The trickster shrugs. "I'll take that as a _no_."

_**000**_

_**A/N:**_ Now, I have to give Jenna credit for the bit about Beggin' Strips. (That's it, blame _her_!) And Phoebe Davis egged me on when I told her what the inscription on Bobby's apron was going to be. I'm blameless. _Blameless!_ There's one more chapter to this bad boy. I wanna make it up to Dean, because after all, he busted his shapeshifting cherry not as a wolf or a black stallion or anything cool like that, but as a _cow_. Apparently in the Trickster world shifting to your default form (as a coyote, like Dean did in _Dog Eat Dog_) doesn't count. The Old Man feels like he has to make it up to the kid.


	7. and now 4 something completely different

_**A/N:**_ Sighs heavily. Yeah, I suck at updating. I could sprout off about RL and all but that's no excuse.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own 'em. And I'm not very happy about it, either.

* * *

**_Chapter 7. and now for something completely different...._**

Coyote moves forward a little, his head down, ears slightly flattened against his head. Dean moves at the same time, closes up the space between them, and it's no accident that they're positioned themselves directly in front of Ellen, Sam, John and Bobby. Bear steps up alongside Dean.

The Crawford Hall trickster looks bored. "You guys are takin' this _way_ too seriously. Singer's fine." He gestures, and Bobby pops in out of thin air, dropping into the chair that John just vacated.

Bobby's startled at first, but it takes him less than a second to figure out what's going on. "You son of a bitch!" He glares at the trickster, and the trickster laughs.

Forget trickster brotherhood and all of that, neither Dean or Coyote are looking very friendly at the moment.

The Crawford Hall trickster realizes this and frowns a little. "Now is that any way to act, boychick?" he says to Dean. Coyote bristles. The Old Man's not used to being ignored like that. "I gave you the heads up about Coyote, remember? Let you know you weren't goin' psycho. Warned you about the Ilimu demons that were after you…"

"_So?_ You want a medal for that?" Coyote twitches his ears, annoyed.

"I'm not here to start anything. I saw what you did to that trickster from that AU. Serves the dumbass right. Tried to warn him. I did."

"Speaking of which, _dumbass_, just so you know," Dean says smoothly, "you messed with Bobby. Bobby's _family_. You really think we're gonna let _that_ slide?" Dean's eyes glint dangerously, but Coyote's eyes spark golden first.

"Now wait a minute…"

A gigantic pale pink cartoon foot slams down directly onto the Crawford Hall trickster. He's squashed flat, and the sound this thing makes when it hits the ground is like a very loud fart.

"The Foot of Cupid," Sam says in awe.

Coyote sits down on his haunches with a thump and looks pretty damned pleased with himself.

"Dude," Dean says slowly. "Monty Python's Flying Circus?"

"There was a marathon one night." Coyote shrugs carelessly. "I couldn't sleep."

"Well, you wrecked the theme of this thing all to hell, didn't you, Old Man?" Bear quips. "Where's the beef?"

"Nah. That tossing cow thing is done." Coyote shakes his head. "It's played."

Dean stands there frowning.

Coyote squints at him. "What?"

Dean shrugs. "Well, _Monty Python_…I dunno…isn't that a little too…_highbrow_ for _us_?"

"Highbrow? You're kidding me, right?" Coyote rears back. His ears go straight up. He raises his left paw and makes a handflap towards the giant foot. "You got something better, kid, I'm all ears."

They can all hear muffled groans coming out from under the damn thing. "…_you sons of bitches_…a little help here…"

"Well, I woulda gone with something more current, like…" Dean crosses his arms, frowns as he stares at the foot.

"Like what?" Coyote narrows his eyes.

"I dunno._ Jackass_ maybe." Dean's good for another three seconds of stalling, and they both know it. He gives it up at the four second mark. "Aw, hell, I got nothin'."

"Damn straight," Coyote crows with immense satisfaction. "The master surpasses the pupil, grasshopper."

Bobby's none too pleased with the sight of this giant foot that close to his beloved brick grill, not to mention the flatulence sound effect.

Bobby quirks an eyebrow at Coyote and Dean. "You boys mind? You wanna clear this out or don't you wanna eat tonight?"

"Oh. Sorry." Coyote's eyes blaze golden. The Foot of Cupid and the squashed Trickster disappear in the blink of an eye.

_**000000**_

"You got any Ambrosia?" Coyote says to Bear, hopefully. The beer in the neverending bottles is good and all, but he likes something with a little more kick to it.

Bear scoffs. "You know good and well you can't handle that stuff, Roamer."

Coyote's ears go up and back. He looks deeply offended. "I can handle Ambrosia."

"No, you can't," Bear chuckles. "You don't want me to tell everybody the real story how the Grand Canyon was created."

Ellen looks puzzled. "The real story?"

"Yep." Bear warms to the subject, while the Old Man sits there staring daggers at him. "One day Coyote got drunk on Ambrosia, and he decided to start digging holes."

Dean smirks proudly. _That is soo cool._

Sam snorts. "Huh. I thought the Grand Canyon was formed by the Colorado River. Took six million years."

"Six million years. Yeah. Right." Bear chokes back laughter.

Coyote huffs indignantly. He sets his beer bottle back down on the table with a too hard thump. He's pissed. He walks stiff legged over near Ellen, sits down right at her right knee, with his back to her.

_He's got such beautiful, thick fur,_ Ellen thinks to herself. She really doesn't think Coyote will mind if she touches him. Maybe it's the beer, but she just can't help herself. Her fingers slide over the top of his head. She hesitates for a moment, and he closes his eyes, leans into her touch.

Ellen's fingers move in slow, lazy circles. The Old Man untenses.

Dean untenses.

John quirks an eyebrow. "Uh…Dean?"

Ellen's fingers hit that sweet spot right behind the Old Man's left ear. Coyote moans out loud.

Dean makes a soft grunting sound.

Coyote's tongue lolls out of his mouth. He's extremely happy.

"So…" Dean rasps out. He squirms in his seat. "How 'bout those Celtics, huh?"

Sam blushes bright red. Finally: "Ellen?"

Coyote's ears go back. He knows what's coming.

"Would you please stop _petting_ my brother?"

"I'm not---" Ellen looks at Dean, really _looks_ this time, sees the slight blush on Dean's face.

"Oh. Sorry." Ellen jerks her hand away.

Coyote's ears go down. "Oh, come on, darlin', don't mind him."

_**000000**_

Rumsfeld2 raises his paw and gestures over the food bowls. The big Rottie's brow furrows as he thinks the words Coyote told him.

The food stops coming, but it doesn't go away. There's steaks, burritos, and baked chicken, stacked high in the bowls.

"Boss ain't gonna like this." Rumsfeld2 rumbles.

"We're gonna get in trouble, I know it," Brownie whines.

Rumsfeld2 huffs. "Best thing to do is not to leave any evidence."

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," Condie says.

Cheney pushes his face into his food bowl and doesn't bother coming up for air as he eats. Nobody has to tell him twice.

The others follow suit. They eat_ everything._

Up in the treetop a branch scratches Palin's balloon skin, but she doesn't pop. She turns back into her same old brown pit bull self. Her stubby tail wags back and forth excitedly. "Hey!" Palin calls out from the treetop. "You're gonna save _me_ some, right? You betcha! Soon as I get down, by golly! Just save me a little bit, okay? I don't eat much."

Thing is, she just sounds like she's just barking (that is, to everyone but Bear, Dean and Coyote). Bobby looks up from the grill and frowns."How the hell did that damn dog get up in that damn tree?"

Dean's looking a little glassy eyed. He shakes his head and his eyes focus again. "Uh, I'll get her down for you, Bobby."

Bobby's eyes narrow as he stares at Coyote. Furball's got this innocent look painted all over that furry face, but Bobby's got nothing on him, and the corn on the cob is up next. He can't leave the grill. "Okay, Dean."

Dean gets up and wobbles a little as he walks back into the salvage yard. Bobby makes a mental note to call Kubrick in the morning and tell him that he can have that crazy mutt Palin after all.

_**0000000**_

An hour later, and the chicken, ribs, burgers, corn on the cob, salad are _gone_.

Bobby beams with extreme satisfaction. No wisecracks from the peanut gallery either, well, aside from that crack John made about "Martha Stewart Singer."

When he goes to feed the dogs Bobby's a little puzzled by the fact that Rumsfeld2, Cheney, Brownie and Condie don't seem too interested in eating. They're sprawled out on the ground and their bellies are swollen, even though their food bowls are empty. Rumsfeld2 blinks tiredly at Bobby, rolls over and goes to sleep. Condie's already asleep and Cheney's lying on his back snoring. Brownie's out like a light.

Huh. Bobby's eyes narrow. _Coyote._

Palin's the only one awake. She sits by her empty food bowl with this stupid grin on her face. Bobby shudders as he dumps the food into her bowl and she starts eating.

Out in the yard the Old Man picks up the vibration. _Uh oh. _He ducks around the table and sits down next to John. John stares at the top of his head, and the fingers of his right hand twitch. John raises his hand towards Coyote's head, and Sam says warningly, "Dad?"

"Oh." John puts his hand down. "Sorry, kid."

Coyote curses up a blue streak.

Dean's still smirking about the Grand Canyon. Damn. No wonder he wanted to see it.

_**000000**_

Sam and Dean volunteer to clean up, and Bobby lets 'em. Whatever else you might say about John Winchester, he raised his boys right. Or maybe they grew up right _despite_ John.

Bobby suspects it's the latter.

Bear takes off for parts unknown after he thanks Bobby for the grub, and leaves another six-pack of that neverending beer. Bobby's never encountered a kachina before, and if they're all like Bear he wouldn't mind meeting another one.

Best damn beer. In life. Who knew?

Now it's Ellen and John squaring off against each off. Bobby counts to three, and they're off. It's a struggle for about a minute or two. John tries valiantly, but Ellen rolls her wrist as she forces John's arm down sideways onto the table.

"Best two outta three," John mumbles. He thumps his beer bottle down on the table a little too hard and wobbles slightly in his chair.

"All right, you're on," Ellen slurs. She puts her elbow on the table and steadies herself.

John does the same as they grip hands.

Twenty minutes later the boys come back out just as Bobby starts cutting the pies.

John loses at arm wrestling again. Sam flinches.

"Damn, this is embarrassing," Dean mutters.

_**00000**_

Dean wanders off into the salvage yard after he eats six slices of pie. His appetite's increased now, but he never gains weight. He still feels the need to move, though, so he walks around the rusted junkers and finally ends up sitting on the hood of a rusty yellow school bus. He takes a swig of beer, looks down between his legs and shudders as he remembers how those damn udders felt.

Coyote sighs. "Still thinking about those damn udders, huh, kid?" He sits down next to Dean on the hood of the school bus.

Dean turns a little red around the edges. "Uh, no. No, of course not." He frowns, closes his legs, tries to look manly.

"Can't lie worth a damn, either," the Old Man drawls softly. "No 'shifting." Coyote looks thoughtful. "Driver makes the rules, shotgun shuts his cakehole, remember? I didn't get it, still don't, but I gotta give you props for it. And the first time you break your own rule, you don't shift into something classy like a black stallion, a wolf or King Kong even. You shift into a freakin' dairy cow. Because of me," Coyote adds wistfully.

They sit there in silence for a moment. Yeah, that cow morph was permanently filed under Dean's Worst Moments of My Whole Damn Life, vying for the number one spot with that hyxx hunt he and John went on up in New York. Damn thing was preying on women late at night. Dean has a sudden flash of himself teetering down the street in a dress and high heels.

Coyote starts grinning and Dean shuts it down.

Not fast enough.

Coyote morphs into Dean in drag. That long blonde wig fits him perfectly, and hell, Dean flinches when he sees that green dress again. "I didn't miss much when I was behind that wall," the Old Man says smugly.

Coyote's eyes get wide. "Whoa. You were right about that pantyhose. It_ was_ riding up into the unknown." He grunts, wiggles uncomfortably. "Way _way_ up into the unknown."

"Will you_ stop_ that?" Dean hisses.

"Damn kid, you coulda just waxed your legs, done without the pantyhose." Coyote squirms from side to side. "Size you got was too damn small. Get queen size next time."

Dean looks appalled. "Next time?" he mutters. The Old Man seems way too comfortable wearing that bra. Dean grimaces. He can still remember wearing the damn thing, the feel of his rolled up socks scratching his bare skin. Those damn straps cut into the tops of his broad shoulders. He felt confined, squeezed in all over, and his boys felt like they were trapped in a vise.

"Hey Dean, there's some pie left out here!" Sam calls out from the picnic area.

Coyote fluffs his hair out and smirks. Dean scowls at him.

"Hey, Dean?" Oh, crap, Sam sounds closer.

"Be right there, Sammy!" Dean yells out. He swallows, then looks around guardedly as Coyote sings in an exaggerated falsetto. "I feel pretty, oh so pretty--"

"Will you stop that!" Dean hisses.

Coyote throws his arms out wide. "I feel pretty and witty and bright---"

Sam rounds the corner. Dean flinches. He'll never hear the end of _this_.

Sam blinks and he misses it. The Old Man's back to his furry four legged self.

Sam quirks an eyebrow at him. "You guys? More pie?"

"Uh…yeah. Okay. We'll be there in a minute," Dean's so relieved his shoulders sag. That was one moment in a hunter's life that he never intended to share with Sam.

Sam stands there blinking for a moment, looking from one to the other. "Okay. So what'd I miss?"

Coyote glances at Dean sideways. "Miss? Oh, nothing. We were just talking."

"I heard singing."

"Yeah. Singing. And talking," Dean finishes up lamely.

Sam stands there for a moment, then shrugs. "Whatever. Last call for pie." Dean doesn't relax again until his not so little brother disappears from view.

Another awkward moment.

Coyote takes a deep breath. "Hey, look, I know the last fifteen months or so hasn't exactly shown you the other side of bein' a Trickster. We spent a year out on the road fightin' for our lives, bringing our loved ones home, and now_ this_ crap comes up. There's a fun side to what we are, y'know."

Dean quirks an eyebrow at hm. "A fun side?"

Coyote's grin is wicked sharp. "_Oh hell yeah."_

_

* * *

_

One more chapter after this, and we're done. Really.


	8. most excellent road trip, pt 1

_**A/N: **_ Well, this little tale has taken on a life of its own. This chapter was about twenty pages, so I cut it in half. _The second half__** is**__ the__** last**__ one_, and besides I have to do a little more research before I unleash that puppy on an unsuspecting world in a couple of days.

Hey, Phoebe, you still there?

Much love to everyone who read and posted, everyone who lurked. I got nothing but love for ya!

_**Disclaimer: **_If you recognize 'em, I don't own 'em.

* * *

_**Chapter 8 – dean and coyote's most excellent road trip, part 1**_

Early the next morning Kubrick's RV rolls out of the yard with Palin riding shotgun. Bobby stands there shaking his head. _Poor damn fool doesn't even know what he's in for._

Twenty minutes later Brownie pushes a food bowl with his nose in front of Bobby, does the thing with the words and the raised forepaw like Coyote taught all the dogs (well, all except _Palin_, of course), and the bowl fills up with fried chicken drumsticks.

Bobby's eyes narrow dangerously. Brownie scrapes the ground with his belly and whines for forgiveness like a newborn puppy. Rumsfeld2, Condie and Cheney almost groan out loud.

Bobby doesn't say much.

Five minutes after that Sam's cell phone goes off while Dean's taking a shower. Sam struggles up from sleep and groggily answers it.

It's Rebecca.

_Yahtzee,_ Dean thinks with relief.

Coyote stirs sleepily in the headspace. _You think too loud, muchacho. Five more minutes…_

_Shut uppp._

Coyote snort-chuckles, rolls over and goes back to sleep. In his dreams he's roaming around Lower Antelope Canyon near Page, Arizona, raising hell along the spirits and wind elementals in those swirling red walls and spirals, howling gleefully at the pale moon overhead.

Less than twenty minutes later Sam finds himself on the sidewalk in front of Rebecca's house. The weather in St. Louis is warm and balmy for this time of year. Dean's got this fake smile plastered on his face. He's _way_ too friendly for this early in the morning. He's not a morning person. Never has been.

He's up to something.

Sam gets pissed. A muscle in his jaw twitches as Dean ignores _the look_, ignores everything else. "Credit card's good, and you got your cell. Give us a call when you wanna come home."

_Jesus._ It's like Sam's ten years old and going off on some grade school field trip all over again.

Sam opens his mouth to say something, _anything_, and Dean disappears in a blink of an eye.

Just like that.

_Son of a bitch. He ditched me. _

Sam stands there for a moment with his mouth hanging open. He remembers to relax the muscles of his face just enough, and when he does his bitchface comes out like early morning sunrise over the Rocky Mountains.

_**000000**_

John Winchester sits on the front porch nursing a mug of hot black coffee. John's having a hard time identifying the way his body feels. It's not a hangover, not exactly, more of a slight buzz from drinking so much of that beer Bear brought over. The top of his head doesn't ache like it's about to come off. He feels relaxed all over. Hell yeah, John can deal with _this._

His right wrist does ache a little, but it's got nothing to do with beer. He vaguely remembers arm-wrestling with Ellen Harvelle and makes a mental note never to do_ that_ again.

_Ever._

Dean and Coyote saunter up to the porch, and Dean tries not to grin at the sight of his dad sitting there all loose-limbed and content for once. He still can't get over the fact that he and Coyote brought John back from Hell. Makes his eyes water sometimes, but that's because of something in the air. Dust, or somethin'. Dean's sure of it.

Coyote circles excitedly around Dean's feet.

"Hey, boys," John drawls softly.

"Hey, Dad." Dean tosses the keys to the Impala to John. John puts up one hand and catches them in mid-air effortlessly, then he quirks an eyebrow at his eldest son.

"Road trip. Me and the old furball here," Dean says. Coyote can't stop grinning. He's practically bouncing on his toes. "Be gone for a couple of days, at least. You need anything before we leave?"

"Naw. I'm good," John says.

"Just dropped Sammy off at Rebecca's in St. Louis. Told him to call us when he needs a ride home."

John nods. Bobby walks up behind Dean in the yard. Singer's got _this look_ on his face. _Huh._ Last time John saw him look like that was over the business end of a shotgun loaded with rock salt. John doesn't remember doing anything to piss Bobby off._ This_ time, at least.

Dean catches the vibe Bobby's giving off, and for once he doesn't know what to make of it.

Coyote deflates. He and Dean both turn around at the same time and Dean scowls a little. "Somethin' wrong, Bobby?"

"Got a bone to pick with the Old Man."

Dean's confused. "What?"

Coyote freezes in place, stands there with all four legs spread wide, quivering. He looks like he wants to run off at top speed.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't interfere with me and my dogs," Bobby says quietly. "I know how to feed 'em, and what they need."

"I won't come out when Dean's here." Coyote's entire body droops, and that normally lively growl of his is a low, subdued whisper. "Don't wanna cause any trouble."

Bobby huffs, annoyed. "Don't be a damned idjit, boy. You're welcome here anytime." Bobby turns on his heel and walks away. That truck over yonder needs fixin', dammit, and he's burning daylight.

Coyote stands there for a moment, sniffing noisily.

"What?"

"He called me an idjit," Coyote says softly.

"Yeah?" Dean's wary. "I was standing right here when he did it. So?"

"That's the nicest thing he's ever said to me." Coyote sounds like he's going to start bawling.

John rolls his eyes. "Wait until he threatens to shoot you in the ass with rock salt. You'll really feel like you belong then."

"What the hell was _that_ all about?"

"Niño, I don't do sequels." Roamer brightens up just as suddenly. His moods always have been slippery, hard to get ahold of. "We are gone, we are outta here!" the furball says jubilantly.

And they are.

_**000000**_

It's California, by the feel and smell of it. LA. City of Angels. Dean's gotten pretty good at identifying places whenever they 'port like that. He doesn't know how, but the names just pop into his head like some mystical GPS system, even when the Old Man's driving, like now.

Place looks like the atrium of this office building somewhere. It's a jungle inside, lush and green, surrounding an indoor waterfall, with wide blue sky outside, just past these large glass windows. Everything looks expensive, ritzy, even the chairs in the place, carved slabs of bluish grey veined marble on round pedestals. Dean sits down in one and it's surprisingly comfortable. Coyote walks around the pool and wistfully eyes the giant golden koi fish just under the surface of the water.

Dean's been to Cali several times. It was always on jobs, or to look in on Sam while he was at Stanford, never pleasure, like now. "First off," Dean mutters under his breath, "I hate witches."

Coyote huffs softly. "Say it a little louder, why don't 'cha, so everyone can hear. You're a bigot, kid."

Dean scowls. "Circe. Homer's Odyssey? Turned dudes into pigs, didn't she?"

"That was back in the day. Geez, she makes a mistake once and that's the only thing anyone ever remembers."

"I just remember that from helping Sammy with his homework, that's all."

"Uh huh. After all this time you remember that, huh?"

"Focus, dude." Dean's right leg starts bouncing a little. In a moment he's gonna get up and start pacing. "Isn't she also the chick who fights Wonder Woman all the time?"

"Yep." Coyote grins. "Everybody needs a hobby."

Dean looks hopeful. "Is Wonder Woman around?"

"Here? No."

"Too bad. She could tie me up in that lasso of hers." Dean smiles as he imagines that star-spangled body armor, the golden double W breastplate. "What's the deal with the witch?"

Coyote sighs. "It was a surprise, all right? This is for a photoshoot. They need a large white Siberian tiger, and Circe owes me a favor."

"A Siberian tiger."

"Yep. Large, white and majestic. And well trained," Coyote adds pointedly.

Dean quirks his mouth. "Well, that lets me out."

Coyote shrugs. "Beats the hell out of a dairy cow."

A door over on the left opens up, and in sweeps a vision of statuesque loveliness. She's a knockout, dressed in a form-fitting floor length royal blue gown. Her eyes are a vivid blue, framed by long dark lashes. Her long wavy hair is various shades of light and dark lavender, but it fits her face and coloring somehow. She looks and smells warm, exotic and expensive, and she could stop traffic just by walking down any street in any city in the world.

"Hello, Roamer. Glad to see you're out and about." That voice is husky, yet unmistakably female. Dean feels a jolt right down to his toes as he stands up.

The Old Man nods. "Circe. It's been a while."

"And you must be Dean. My, my. I've heard a lot about _you_, young man." Circe sweeps her gaze over Dean's face and body and her luscious full lips part in a warm, friendly smile. The smile Dean gives her in return is slightly crooked and blinding. Circe's smile gets even wider. "You're exquisite."

Circe offers her hand and Dean kisses it.

_Thought you hated witches, kid._

_Hate is such a harsh word. _

_Huh. If you say so._

Circe smiles. "Roamer's told you about the photoshoot, and the white tiger. Now young man, I need to see what you can do."

And that's when the refuse hit the propeller.

(Okay, the s**t hit the fan. You happy now?)

_**000000**_

Two minutes later:

"Uh, Circe," Coyote says slowly, "could you give us a moment alone, please?"

"Of course."

Dean sits perched on the edge of one of those stone chairs. He looks dejected. Circe stops and puts her hand lightly on his shoulder. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. It happens to all men at one time or another."

Coyote shakes his head vigorously. "Hey, wait a minute. Not to me!"

"Be kind, Old Man," Circe murmurs softly.

Dean closes his eyes and shakes his head. _Crap._

Coyote's ears go down. He waits until Circe's out of the room before he pads over and sits down right in front of Dean. "You're embarrassin' me here, kid. What? You changed into that cow in front of me."

"That was…that was _you_. _You_ don't count," Dean says miserably. "Besides, it was for Dad and Sam, too."

"Okay, okay…let me think here…" Coyote gets up on his hind legs, paces back and forth. He becomes Dean's mirror image, freckles, spiky blond hair, faded jeans, leather coat, and even though he's freaking out Dean's already pretty sure the Old Man isn't rubbing his face in it.

"So what's the problem? Why can't I 'shift? I got nothin'."

The light dawns in Coyote's eyes, makes that greenish gold color even brighter. "You're shy."

"What?"

"You're one'a those shy 'shifters."

"What? Shy? No, I'm not!"

"Yes, you are. Hey look, it's nothin' to be ashamed of. It happens."

Dean bristles. "Not to me, it doesn't!"

"Was that why you didn't want Sammy to come along? You knew you were gonna freeze up like this and you didn't want baby bro to see it, huh?"

Dean leans forward and scrubs both hands through his short spiky hair. He doesn't answer.

"I'll take that as a yes." Coyote sighs. "There's no shame in this, niño. Look, I forgot. I was born doing this kind of thing. It's new to you. We don't have to do this. I can show you the sights, we can go on a different road trip, call it a day after that."

There's a moment when Coyote can't read Dean, either by face or body language. Misery, frustration and depression rolls off the kid in waves. Dean stares at that expensive brown and gold Italian tile floor, and his broad shoulders sag.

"You said it was a photoshoot."

"Yeah."

"Photoshoot for what?"

"America's Top Model." Coyote says quietly. Doesn't really matter now.

Dean's eyes widen. "What?"

"America's Top Model. Twelve sessions in all."

"Damn," Dean growls to himself. The air around him shimmers with a faint golden light.

"Lingerie, leather, you name it." Coyote pretends not to notice.

Dean's eyes flash bright gold just then.

Coyote pretends to ramble on: "Yeah, you woulda been around all these half-naked women, beautiful women…"

Dean leans forward and the air around him blurs as he drops down on all fours.

"… wearing swimsuits, next to nothing really…"

When Dean fades back in again there's this huge white Siberian tiger with wide green eyes and long dark eyelashes in his place.

_Hah,_ Coyote thinks to himself. _I still got it. I brought tricky to town. Hell yeah._

Dean's tail lashes back and forth. He sits down on his haunches and raises one paw the size of a baseball mitt up in front of his eyes. He flexes his paws, unsheathes his claws, and smirks.

_That's my boy,_ Coyote thinks proudly.

_**000000**_

Last chapter up Wednesday. Told ya.


	9. eye of the tiger remix

**A/N:** Well, it's Wednesday, as promised. But I have a confession to make. This is not the last chapter of "Zen." It's the next to last chapter, an interlude in the boys' road trip, 'cause you know you wanna see Tiger!Dean just as much as I do. The opinions and thoughts expressed by Mr. Dean Winchester do not in any way represent the opinions and the feelings of this evil authoress. There. I said it, and I feel better for it.

Disclaimer: I don't own Dean, Sam, Coyote, Circe, or any of the rest. Really.

* * *

_**Chapter 9 - eye of the tiger remix**_

Preparation H inside a tube of toothpaste.

_Dean's_ tube of toothpaste.

Yeah,_ that's_ a keeper.

That goes in the number five slot of Sam's List of Things To Do To My Idiot Older Brother. He still hasn't found the prank suitable enough for number one. He's got time, though, and an overactive imagination fueled by feverish thoughts of revenge. There's a Walgreen's drugstore down the street from Rebecca's house, and in Dean's own words, the "credit card's good."

Sam grins evilly when he remembers that cheesy grin on Dean's face.

Some of his college buddies get kind of disturbed by that bright predatory grin, so Sam decides to tone it down. As he moves through the living room with his plate of food (barbequed chicken wings and salad) he overhears one of Bec's doctor friends talking about this stuff called magnesium citrate.

It's a laxative that looks like soda.

When something like this practically falls into his lap Sam figures he'd have to be a damn fool to ignore it. And John Winchester didn't raise any fools.

Well, actually, John didn't raise him, Dean did, which makes the notion of fate and kismet all the more sweeter.

Sam recalls something he read on Wikipedia about the stuff, and he can't help but grin.

"Magnesium citrate can be clear or colored, due to the flavoring agents. Magnesium citrate generally comes in lemon or lemon-lime flavor, but can come in cherry, orange and grape as well. It has an extremely sour taste, but chilling it in the refrigerator or pouring it over a glass of ice can help with the unpleasant taste…."

Sam doesn't notice the strange looks his friends give him. Doesn't notice and doesn't care.

_**000000**_

"… o-off…"

_Huh, _Dean thinks to himself,_ not so slick and tricky now, are ya, dog boy?_

"…ged off!"

Dean shifts all five hundred pounds of his weight as he sits on Coyote's chest and belly. He's got the Old Man pinned down on the floor on his back, and now Dean feels the need to…well, knead.

It's not unpleasant (at least not for _him_, anyway) so Dean decides to roll with it.

Hey, it's like kneading bread.

Bread that squeals.

"No…no…not the claws, not the claws!"

Dean ignores his tricky ass.

After Dean finishes kneading, slowly, thoughtfully, there are long rips in Coyote's blue denim overshirt and black t shirt and his brown leather jacket, but it's not Dean's leather or clothes, none of it is, so it's a safe bet to say that Dean is relatively unconcerned at the moment. He loves seeing that pained expression on the Old Man's face, even though it's_ his_ face too, but that doesn't bother Dean either. He leans down and unfurls that huge pink tongue of his, and the startled look Coyote gives him as Dean licks the side of his face is_ priceless._

Circe stands nearby. She tries not to laugh. "Uh, Roamer, do you need some help?"

"Nah. I'm good." Dean leans in further, well within kissing distance, and waggles his eyebrows at Coyote. Dean purses his lips.

"No tongue, kid, you hear me? No tongue!"

Dean snorts.

"Oh." Circe stands back and watches Dean as he licks the Old Man's face one more time and then gets off, slowly, carefully making sure that he plants at least one oversized paw in Roamer's mid-section.

Coyote makes a sound like a rapidly deflating balloon as he sits up rather shakily. "You're a piece of work, you know that?" he mutters roughly, but he's grinning a little, too.

Tiger!Dean prowls around the atrium. He's showing off, and with good reason.

_Too bad he's connected to the Old Man,_ Circe thinks to herself. _I swore an oath, but still…_

Dean breaks into an easy trot, his long sinewy muscles stretching easily underneath that dense, striped, snow white fur. He's trying out this new body of his, testing it, and he seems pretty damn happy so far. He grins to himself as he takes a few practice leaps, easily clearing those stone chairs with room to spare. Dean jumps up on the ledge around the waterfall, and he suddenly gets quiet as he leans forward and stares at his reflection in the water.

His looks translated. He can recognize his eyes, his eyelashes. He's even got a spray of light grey freckles across his nose. Dean wiggles his ears back and forth, wrinkles his pink nose leather, bares his teeth.

_Son of a bitch…_

He finally wags his head from side to side and makes faces at himself in the water.

Most of the koi in the pool flee at the sight of him. One large speckled gold and black fish darts at him aggressively. Dean growls, swipes at it with one huge paw. He keeps his claws in but he scoops the fish out of the water and bats it into the waterfall with a wet splat.

Circe watches with approval. The fish was her tax accountant in another life. _Arrogant bastard._ He had sticky fingers when he was a human, before she turned him. If Dean suddenly decided to have fish for an afternoon snack, Circe wouldn't mind. _Not at all._

Dean jumps down, takes a running leap at the far wall, jumps up about twelve feet off the floor and bounces off effortlessly, turning in mid-air to right himself so he can land on all fours. As soon as he hits the ground he stretches into a bounding, leaping run alongside the glass walls of the atrium. At one point Dean cocks his head to one side and sees the tip of his tail waving lazily in the air. He wonders if he can catch it with his mouth and paws.

He can.

And all the while he purrs and rumbles like a newborn kitten.

He finally pads back over as Coyote brushes himself off, repairs the damage to his clothes. Dean's massive tail somehow swipes the Old Man right in the face as Dean slinks by.

_Mmph!!!_

_Oh. Sorry._

Coyote sputters, spitting out cat hair, as Dean walks up to Circe, slowly, elegantly. He sits down in front of her and almost daintily offers her his massive right paw.

Circe takes it, and bows slightly. "You're magnificent, child."

Dean huffs in agreement. _Damn right I am._

_**000000**_

Sam doesn't have any ill will against Coyote, of course, and he makes a mental note to surf the net and see about learning some masking spells that might cover his intentions.

_White glue in that hair gel Dean uses._

Number three on the hit parade.

Sam's making a list, and he's checking it twice.

_**000000**_

All eyes turn their way when they hit the set. There's this tall, shaggy, broad-shouldered young hottie in this battered brown leather jacket with this huge white Siberian tiger walking calmly next to him.

Folks in LA have never seen anything like this.

Dean grudgingly allowed Coyote to put that black leather collar around his neck. Coyote holds the end of the chain leash, but it's really Dean taking the Old Man for a walk.

It's all for show. Dean gets it. Just like having a fake ID or wearing a priest's costume. What Dean doesn't get is the way Coyote looks now. Cameras all around, they couldn't have Dean Winchester just stroll in. Just his luck they'd end up on Entertainment Tonight, and then they'd have to deal with his favorite Eff Bee Eye agent, one Victor _(I Will Hound Your Ass For All Eternity) _Hendricksen. Hendricksen thinks Dean's dead. Dean's fine with that.

The look Coyote morphed into now looks vaguely familiar. Dean can't quite place the face. Dean stands there with his nostrils flared, mouth slightly open. He can smell females. Young, firm, perfumed. They're nearby, and he wants to run over to the dressing room and stroll right in.

_Steady, kid._

The stage manager glides up. Dean lifts his head and stares at him and the man veers off.

_Punk._

"Whoa there! That's a big kitty. What's _your_ name, son?"

"Sam," Coyote answers. "Sam Padalecki."

The tiger's eyebrows go up.

_There was a Gilmore Girls marathon on the other night, _Coyote explains to Dean silently. _I like this Padalecki kid's face._

_Huh._

"You're his handler?"

"Yep. I trained him. Taught him everything he knows."

The tiger snorts. _As if._ He yawns, slow, wide, showing _all_ his teeth.

"_Damn._ What's his name?"

"Dean."

"Dean. Okay, Mr. Padalecki, I want you to meet with our crew and our photographer. Anne Tyler. You're heard of her, haven't you?"

"Sure thing," Coyote lies smoothly. He reaches into the guy's head, and gently pulls out an image of a tall, silver-haired, middle-aged black woman with a camera, taking pictures of half naked Victoria's Secret models wearing angel wings. It's all so smooth and painless, stage manager guy doesn't even notice.

Dean catches the image and rumbles excitedly.

"Saw her work with the Angel photoshoot," Coyote says, smirking. "I'm a big fan."

The guy leers back. "Aren't we all, buddy." He steps to the side, keeps an eye on Dean. "He's a calm one, isn't he?"

"Oh yeah. He's steady. Nothing but an oversized kitten."

Dean rolls his eyes. _Dude, I'm standing right here._

"Well, right this way," stage manager guy says. "We'll get you and your kitty situated over here."

_Kitty? Please. _Dean rolls his eyes again._ This had better be good, Old Man. _

_Oh ye of little faith…_

_**000000**_

Twenty minutes later Dean figures he's died and gone to babe heaven.

_Seriously._

When Coyote met with the photographer he explained that it would be better if Dean the tiger was properly introduced to each and every model he'd be in the shoot with, so he could get used to the sight and smell of them.

_Friggin' brilliant._

The models lined up, all twelve of them.

This was way better than that time Dean posed as a PA on the set of that porn flick, "The Day The Earth Stood Still While Debbie Did Damn Near Everybody."

Way better.

And this time? All the attention is centered on him. He's a chick magnet.

He's never seen so much nubile female flesh in one place in his whole entire life. Breasts and legs, fine toned asses, smooth skin, black, white, brown, you name it. All in various stages of undress. Redheads, brunettes, blondes…even that babe over there with the bald head looks pretty damned good.

"Can I pet him?" the first model in line chirps. She's tall, about as tall as Sammy. She has legs up to her chin, and frankly, Dean is in awe. Her straight black hair falls to the middle of her back, and she's wearing what looks like dark purple ace bandages wrapped strategically around her most interesting parts, barely covered by this bright yellow terry cloth mini robe.

"Sure," Coyote grins. "Go ahead."

Her long slim fingers skim the top of Dean's head, and he shudders. "Oh, you're such a big pretty boy," she coos softly.

_Yeah I am,_ Dean thinks as he leans into her touch. _Hell yeah I am._

Her robe falls open as she leans forward, and Dean doesn't mind.

Coyote doesn't mind either.

_**000000**_

_**Risin' up, back on the street  
Took my time, took my chances**_

It's Dean and Purple Ace Bandage Girl (_Gisele,_ Dean thinks to himself, _her name is Gisele_) and he ignores the song blasting out from the loudspeakers.

Dean can deal with this. Deal with _all _of it.

_**Went the distance  
Now I'm back on my feet  
Just a man and his will to survive**_

Gisele's in full costume now, and with that bronze armor and those thigh high leather boots she looks like Playboy's version of Xena Warrior Princess. Dean's her faithful companion, White Fury, and Lord knows he has absolutely no problem with _that._

_**So many times, it happened too fast  
You trade your passion for glory**_

He hits his marks, gives just the right facial expressions when Anne Tyler gives direction:

"Come on darling, make love to the camera, will you? That's it, that's it. I want playful----"

Dean is.

_**Don't lose your grip on the dreams of the past  
You must fight just to keep them alive**_

"I want determined."

Dean's that. Steely eyed.

_**It's the eye of the tiger  
It's the thrill of the fight**_

"I need for you two to be sexy…"

Giselle pouts and Tiger!Dean does Blue Steel.

_**Risin' up to the challenge  
Of our rival**_

"Give me savage---"

_**And the last known survivor  
Stalks his prey in the night  
And his fortune must always be  
The eye of the tiger**_

Dean positions himself behind and to the side of Giselle, crouches down, squints, and snarls. He flares his whiskers as he bares his teeth, stares directly into the lens of Anne Tyler's camera. The shot becomes pure gold.

"Beautiful! Perfect, perfect!"

_**000000**_

Three hours later Dean's posed with warrior princesses, jungle queens, female hunters.

Halfway through the crew calls for a break.

It's hot underneath the lights, so Coyote leads Dean over to this soft mattress while they set up the next few scenes. He gives Dean Perrier water in a large metal bowl as the crew sets up some fans near him. Dean slurps up the water thirstily, then closes his eyes and leans back as several of the crew members spray him from head to tail with purified mineral water.

_Princess, you are soo full of it, you know that?_

Dean sighs. _It's a dirty job, but somebody's gotta do it._

_It's all yours, kid,_ Coyote thinks to himself. He could have piggybacked onto what Dean was feeling when the models touched him, but heck, Coyote's not _that _kind of sleazeball. Well, I mean he can be sometimes, but he feels loyalty to family above all. He keeps his word to family. Everyone else is fair game.

It's nothing personal, just the way he is, yeah?

Coyote sits down on the mattress. Dean leans over and swipes affectionately at the Old Man's left ear with his tongue.

_Pervert._

Dean rumbles laughter.

Ten minutes later when he strolls back onto the set, Dean's heart damn near stops.

It's twins this time. Two busty Asian beauties wearing long black flowered kimonos.

Damsels in distress. And they need a big damn hero to protect them.

_Huh. Need any help?_ Coyote already knows the answer.

Dean pads forward, ears pricked, a big cat with a purposeful strut.

_Heck no. I got this. Be still my heart…_

The rest of the shoot goes smooth as silk. Velvety smooth, you could say. Even the on-site rep for the Humane Society of LA County (Hollywood Division) ends up ruffling the top of Dean's head. He purrs like a kitten and lips at her fingers.

Anne Tyler already has the feeling that the proofs are going to be phenomenal, the best she's ever seen, so she gets Sam Padalecki's business card before he leaves.

She also gets his cell phone number scrawled on the back of the card. It's a good number. Coyote makes sure of it.

Anne likes them young, and besides, that tiger of his, that _Dean_, has more charisma than most of the stick figures she photographs.

_**000000**_

Nair in Dean's shampoo.

_No._ Sam frowns, shakes his head. It's been _done. To him. By Dean. _

Supergluing Dean's beer bottle to his hand? Well now, that's a classic.

That goes on Sam's list.

_**000000**_

_**One more after this. Yep. For real. **_

_**See you in 2009. Happy New Year!**_


	10. most excellent road trip, pt 2

_**A/N:**_ Geez, so ya'll liked Tiger!Dean huh? I had a feeling he'd be popular. Thanks for all your encouragement!

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own anyone that you recognize. Please don't sue me. I'm poor.

* * *

_**Chapter 10 – dean and coyote's most excellent road trip, part 2**_

_**Hollywood Sign  
Dusk**_

Nobody's around when they fade into view on the hillside right next to the HOLLYWOOD sign.

"Did the dog deliver, or did the dog deliver?" Coyote says smugly. He's back to furry and four-legged.

Dean grins. "Dog boy delivered. You the man." He makes a short mock bow. "I sit at your feet, sensei."

Coyote nods solemnly. "As well you should, grasshopper. Anne's gonna send me copies of the proofs. You made quite an impression on 'em, kid."

"Yeah, well…it was good." The smile on Dean's face is almost shy, bashful. He won't look Coyote in the eyes. "Better than I ever thought it would be. I get the deal about the fur. I finally do."

The moment's kinda awkward, but nice at the same time. _Not _a chick flick moment. Not a full blown one anyway. This is _manly_.

Yeah.

Coyote looks away and pretends the LA skyline at dusk is just so damned interesting.

Wasn't always like this. First three days Coyote made himself known he and Dean tried to trick and trap each other. What a difference a year makes.

Dean looks up at the HOLLYWOOD sign. Funny, it doesn't look as bright and pristine as it does from street level. There's graffiti all over it, even up at the top. Dean wonders who Chico was, and why he was here, and if you can have a good time when you call "Bunny", Dean figures Bunny could have at least put her phone number someplace with better foot traffic.

It's 323-772-0123, and no, Dean doesn't write it down. He doesn't have to.

Emo bit's over. Dean brightens up, clears his throat. "Okay. Where to next?"

_**000000**_

_**St. Louis, Missouri  
Thirty minutes later**_

"Uh, Sam?" Rebecca says worriedly.

Sam doesn't seem to hear her. He hunches his shoulders as he sits at her laptop in the spare bedroom. She watches anxiously as he scribbles down notes on that notepad of his.

"Sam?"

Finally. "Yeah, Bec?"

"Zack's here. He wants to see you. When are you coming out?"

"Uhm…in a minute."

"Sam, is everything okay?"

"Huh? Sure. Sure." Wikipedia came up a big fat zero. Sam moves on to to look up Gods of Pranks and Concealment.

"Is everything okay with Dean?"

"Oh yeah. Dean." Sam smiles evilly. _How about putting plaster of paris in those bath salts Dean likes to use sometimes? _"Oh yeah."

Another addition to the list.

_**000000**_

_**Rooftop – The Daily Planet building  
Later that same night**_

He manages not to knock down the building as he flies by. That's something at least. It's a practice flight, and as he lands Dean fidgets and pulls at the seat of the red trunks. He's frowning. "Kinda bunches at the back, y'know."

This is damned uncomfortable. He throws his head back repeatedly to get that black curl of hair out of his eyes. Damn thing keeps falling down.

Coyote actually makes a tsking sound.

"You look fine, kid. The cape hides it."

"Doesn't hide it enough. Damn, this bunches worse than pantyhose…"

"Again with the pantyhose, niño." The Old Man lays his ears back and smirks. "Somethin' you wanna tell me?"

"Well, I kinda have an issue with flying…and he wears his underwear on the outside."

"Quit fidgeting. You look fine."

Dean looks up and sees the real Man of Steel hovering in the air right behind Coyote. "Uh, somehow I don't think that's gonna be a problem," Dean snarks.

Supes looks _annoyed_, to say the least. Closed off body language, arms crossed in front of his chest. "Ahem."

"Hey," Coyote turns and grins at him slyly. "Nice boots."

"Hmph."

Dean and Coyote look at each other as they fade out. "Plan B."

_**00000**_

Sam slips out of Rebecca's house sometime after one o'clock with his duffel and credit card. The Walgreens store is open twenty four hours. Sam really does appreciate _that_.

Hours ago he tried to act normal when he finally came out of that spare bedroom. Judging from the looks on everyone's faces Sam knows he really did a piss poor job of it. All he could think about was _Dean_.

Dean with that cheesy grin on his face.

Dean with a headful of shampoo and white glue.

Dean camping out in the bathroom because of that magnesium citrate.

_He ditched me,_ Sam thought to himself. _He. Ditched. Me._

Sam's got his list with him, too. Dish detergent, saran wrap, superglue, magnesium citrate. White glue, cherry and grape Kool-Aid. Duct tape. Plastic bags. Ambesol. Scotch tape and a package of popcorn kernels.

Sam somehow manages not to grin evilly and scare the hell out of the cashier as he checks out.

Dean was right all along. The credit card is _good_.

_**000000**_

_This is cake,_ Dean thinks to himself as the dude with the gun turns to face him. It's no contest, of course, and Dean smirks as he spins around and effortlessly delivers a wheel kick to the guy's mid-section that lays him right out. The other four decide to flee then, and they bolt out of the alley, right past this huge dog who sits there watching the whole thing rather intently.

It's a short getaway. About fifty feet.

Chumps never knew what hit them.

Dean leaves them tied up, hanging upside down from several street lamps in the area. Coyote comes out and sits beside him, and a passing motorist is more than eager to take a picture of the two of them with the perps, one with his own cell phone, another one with Dean's camera phone.

"Otherwise my snot-nosed brother won't believe any of this," Dean tells him.

Two hours, three muggers, two carjackers, six more perps, one attempted armored car robbery and twelve intended victims later (not to mention an amazed and grateful armored car crew of four guards), Dean's practically bouncing on his toes.

His black, well armored toes. The batsuit is a perfect fit. It's from "The Dark Knight." Even though Dean has a fondness for Michael Keaton's suit _and_ his portrayal of Batman, Dean wanted to be able to turn his head.

The armored car driver took a picture of Dean with the other guards using his personal phone, and then snapped another picture with Dean's phone. Coyote sat next to Dean grinning, but he did flinch a little when Dean referred to him as "Bat Hound."

Well, smartass wouldn't wear the mask Dean wanted him to wear.

_Oh well._

_**Rooftop of Wayne Industries - Gotham City  
Later**_

"Did you _see _it? Did you see what I _did_?"

"Uh…yeah." Coyote looks puzzled. "Thing I don't get is, you hated flying, but you were okay with jumping off those tall buildings. Uh, how many times? I lost count."

"Doesn't matter." Dean assumes a heroic pose, chin up, fists on his hips. "I'm Batman!"

"Yeah, right…" Coyote eyes him rather doubtfully.

Superman lands lightly on the rooftop a few feet away. "Hi, Bruce. Heck of a night so far, huh? Hey, wait a minute. You're not---"

"Time to go. Bye!"

_**Middle of nowhere, New Mexico  
Five minutes before dawn**_

Trooper Henry Kaminski's seen a lot of weird things out here. Thought he saw a UFO once, a V shaped cluster of bright white lights that danced and soared in the night sky. Now Kaminski sits in his cruiser, staring straight ahead at the spectacle in front of him. He grips the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white.

He's never seen anything like _this_.

"My ass is on the ground," Godzilla pouts.

"Yeah. Your tail's draggin'," the other one says. It looks like a dog. A coyote. Hank's never seen one that large, that perfect before. He can hear its voice inside his head, all low and whiskey smooth. Godzilla has the same voice, and they fuss back and forth at each other, bickering like an old married couple.

"That redesign was better. More like a T-Rex."

"Wait a minute." The giant lizard scowls darkly. "You _liked _the new Godzilla movie?"

The coyote shrugs. "Yeah."

"That movie sucked."

"And you went to see it anyway, didn't you?" The coyote quirks an eyebrow. "Gee, I wonder why."

"Heathen," Godzilla mumbles. He looks down his body with a critical eye. "I dunno. Does this make my hips look fat?"

The coyote rolls his eyes. "You look like a man in a rubber suit. We're about to burn a lotta daylight, niño. You gonna rampage or not?"

Godzilla sulks. "I'm not in the damn mood now."

"Emo bitch."

"Hey, that's my line."

"Whatever, kid, whatever." The coyote looks at Hank and grins slyly. "Why, hello there, officer. Hell of a mornin', ain't it?"

The sun comes up over the horizon just then, and the sudden stab of bright sunlight blinds Kaminski for a moment. When his vision clears the coyote and Godzilla are gone.

Several hours later copies of the dash cam video makes it to YouTube, posted by law_n_ordergurl.

Got over two million hits the first hour.

_**00000**_

_**Las Vegas, Nevada  
Later on that same day**_

"Dean?"

"Oh, hi, Jo."

"Listen, I'm down at the Roadhouse. Couple of hunters dropped by this morning. I heard something about Sam. Your old friend Gordon Walker is getting a group together. Hunting party. They're going after Sam next."

Dean's face darkens. "Hell they are. Got it. Thanks, Jo. I owe you a favor."

"No, you don't. Couldn't find out where they are, though."

"No worries. I'll find them."

"Okay. Kick Gordon's ass once for me, will ya?"

"You can count on it." Dean flips his cell closed and stands there. He's breathing heavily, but he's not even aware that he's doing it.

Dean's normally bright green eyes glow even brighter.

They're a couple of blocks away from City Hall. Coyote's sitting with his back to Dean, looking out at the early morning street traffic, just enjoying the sights. Nobody seems to notice him, or care. He's just sitting there, tongue lolling out of his mouth, relaxed and happy.

Dean thinks about Gordon, remembers that at one time he actually thought ol' Gordon was a pretty decent guy.

That was _before_. Before Gordon got it into his head that Sammy was the AntiChrist. Before Gordon decided that Sam should die.

Dean fingers the collar of his overshirt, pulls it and his t shirt away from his neck.

_Getting hard to breathe._

Dean doesn't realize that his muscles are expanding. He's growing taller. He doesn't notice that greenish tint to his skin now, or how large his fingers are getting. The back seam of his beloved leather jacket splits down the middle as Dean's body expands. He pulls off what's left of his jacket and shirts without much thought. His feet burst out of his socks and work boots, and his jeans now cover him only from his waist to his knees.

Coyote's still sitting there with his back to Dean, and the Old Man gradually becomes aware of all that energy churning in the air behind him.

Coyote lays his ears back and slowly turns around to stare at Dean. "Uh…kid…"

Dean doesn't even notice. All he can think about is kicking Gordon Walker's ass, his ass and any other sonofabitch who would even dare to come after Sam. Dean's growling, low and deep in his throat. He raises both heavily muscled arms over his head, emerald green and bare now, his hands balled into fists.

_Gordon. Gordon wants to kill Sam. _

"Hulk smash!" Dean roars, and he brings both fists down onto the sidewalk. The crater is about two feet deep. Parked cars nearby jump into the air as the street cracks and chips of concrete fly through the air.

Coyote shakes his head. "Oy vey."

Several people pull out their cell phones and start snapping pictures as Coyote and Dean disappear from the street in a flash of golden light.

The video makes MySpace and YouTube. _Incredible Hulk and raging desert wildlife sighted on Vegas strip_, says one blog. _Life in Vegas is wild_, says another.

Who knew.

_**000000**_

Sam shows up at Bobby's place twenty minutes later, just pops in out of thin air in the yard next to the Impala. John's the only one to see his youngest son come back. John lifts his head up from under the Impala's hood. The old girl needed a change of spark plugs, and it was something to occupy his time.

Sam stumbles forward a little, with his duffel slung on his back. At first it does look like he was literally pushed out of a moving car, only thing is there's no car behind him, just this faint golden haze in the air behind him.

John recognizes Dean's handiwork when he sees it.

"Hey, Sam," John murmurs fondly.

Sam just stands there and stares at John. Sam doesn't look happy. "He ditched me. _Again._"

"Who?"

"Dean. Came to Rebecca's house. Ditched me. Again," Sam grits out.

He shoulders his duffel and stalks into the house without another word.

Sam's got work to do.

_**000000**_

**Epilogue is next. Yep, I posted them at the same time. Go on now. **


	11. Epilogue tricks and treats

_**A/N:**_ This is the Epilogue for Zen. Knowing I probably couldn't use this stuff anywhere else, I decided to include it all here. Shout-outs at the end of the story.

_**Disclaimer:**_ If you recognize them, I don't own them. Please don't sue me. I'm poor.

* * *

_**Epilogue – tricks and treats**_

Ellen Harvelle calls John six hours later. "Is Sam there with you?"

John tries not to laugh as he recalls that whipped puppy look on Sam's face. "Yeah. He's here."

"Good. Are Dean and Coyote around?"

"Nope. Road trip."

"Yeah. I bet. I just got the word from some hunters who were part of a group that Gordon was putting together. Seems they got it into their heads that Sam's the AntiChrist. They were going to hunt him down, John. Don't need to tell you what they were going to do when they found him."

John goes deathly silent. "And?"

"Don't think you have to worry about _that _anymore. These hunters that stopped by my place said Gordon had them all meet at this farmhouse up in Wisconsin. Did a lot of big talk about how unnatural Sam is, said Gordon was going to show them that Sam was evil and needed to be destroyed. Well, the thing is, later on Gordon went out to the woods in back of the farmhouse. Some of the others were curious about what he was up to, so they followed him. Watched him."

John holds his breath.

"Gordon started conjuring up things out of thin air. Weird stuff. Demons. Spirits. This big red demon thing with white eyes called him Master, said they were waiting to do his bidding, that the whole idea was to get rid of anyone who was a threat, starting with Sam Winchester. An the ironic thing was, they would get human hunters to do their dirty work for them. The idiots in the bushes stayed quiet just long enough to see it all, and when they got back to the house Gordon was there, trying to pretend he'd been at the farmhouse all along. Fight broke out, and somehow Gordon managed to get away. He's running now. Wouldn't wanna be in his shoes when they catch him."

John's quiet for a moment, so quiet that Ellen thinks they've lost the connection. "John? You still there?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm still here. Anybody get killed when Gordon took off?"

"Nope. The word's out on him now, though. Heard he was headed for Canada. When he hits that border he better not stop until he hits Alaska."

"Thanks for the heads-up."

"No problem."

John sits there for a moment, and then he does the only thing he can do.

He laughs.

_My boys,_ John shakes his head. _My boys._

_**000000**_

_**New York City, here they come, baby!  
(Sorry, I couldn't resist)  
Later on that same night**_

"I'm sorry baby," Dean croons to his newly restored leather jacket. "Never let that happen to you ever again." He looks down at himself. Faded jeans. Check. Work boots? Check. Denim overshirt and black t shirt? Double check.

This life_ does_ have its perks.

"Hey, this is it." Coyote wags that thick tail of his. He runs on ahead to that building with the dark blue tinted glass windows, slips through the double glass doors like a ghost and back out again. He circles excitedly around Dean's legs.

Dean stares at the electric blue neon sign above. "_Tricks 'N' Treats_. Huh. Sounds like a hooker bar to me."

Coyote squints at him and shakes his head. "It's a trickster only bar."

"Okay. Yeah." Dean's got this uncertain look on his face as he stares up at the sign again. "Name just seems a little too…_floofy_ to me."

"_Floofy_?" Coyote stops and stares at Dean.

Dean shrugs. "You know what I mean."

A minute later Dean's staring up at the host in his black and white tuxedo. Dude's about eight feet tall, covered in long thick brown hair, with liquid brown eyes.

"Damn," Dean whispers to himself. Last time he was this close to a bigfoot, damn thing tried to chew his face off.

"Good to see you, sir." The Sasquatch's grin is wide and friendly, reaches his eyes and even includes Dean.

"Hey." Coyote nods back. "How's it goin', Phil?"

Phil shrugs. "Pretty good. I got you to thank for me getting this job."

"Hey, No prob. I just returned the favor you did me. Can we get a table tonight?"

Phil nods. "Course you can. After I introduce you."

Coyote does an aw-shucks gesture that would do Gomer Pyle proud. Then: "Still got that spotlight and the drum roll?"

Phil grins. "Of course."

A second later Dean stands there blinking, his hand raised to shield his eyes from the intense light of this spotlight that comes from nowhere. He hears the drummer start up, and he's a little apprehensive. No hunters in here. Place is tricksters only.

Yeah. Like_ that's_ a reason to relax. _Not._

Dean forces himself to relax. If stupid breaks out he can surely handle it.

Coyote sits there beside Dean like a visiting king surveying his subjects. Phil's on the mike as everyone in the place turns towards them.

"And here they are," Phil booms out, "two as one, the Master of Disaster, one of the First and _still _the Best. Often imitated, seldom duplicated, the Creator, the Magician, Roamer, God's Dog, the First Artist, Ban, Sinchlep, First Scolder, Akba-Atatdia ---"

"I love this part," Coyote whispers.

"--- Fine Young Chief Howling In the Dawn in the East ---"

"Damn, I miss hearing that one!"

"---the one, the only, Coyote!"

The applause is deafening.

_I could learn to like this,_ Dean thinks to himself with a grin. He waves at the crowd and several of the ladies wave back. Good grief, they're fine.

_Definitely learn to like this._

Coyote heads for a booth, something out of the way, in a corner. Dean feels better when he realizes he can keep an eye on the door that way. Old habits die hard.

It takes a moment or so for his eyes to adjust, and when he does he tries not to stare.

The room is bigger than it looks from the street, for one thing. Football stadium huge, for that matter. There's a large stage covered with a red curtain in the front. Place is packed. Half of them look human. The rest? No way.

It reminds Dean of the kiva back in New Mexico, the first time he woke up there. Everywhere Dean looks he sees something he's never seen before. Dean sees beings that have animal faces and human hands. A badger sits in a far corner daintily drinking from a glass with a straw. This monkey prowls up and down the aisles between the tables meddling with everybody, starting arguments, trying to pick fights. He's having a fine old time.

Dean sees this oversized black raven sitting at a table, and when the Raven sees Dean looking in his direction it very pointedly turns its head away.

Coyote laughs. "We had a competition going on back in the day. Claims he stole fire first and gave it to humans. Poser."

A tall, older dude with a wicked gleam in his eyes walks by the booth on his way back to his table. He looks directly at Dean and nods. "How you kids doin' tonight?" he drawls.

_Son of a bitch._ Dean's jaw drops.

Coyote nods. The man nods back and doesn't miss a step.

"Jack Nicholson is a Trickster?" Dean squeaks out.

"Yep."

"Huh." Someone else catches Dean's eye. "Is that…is that _Bugs Bunny_ over there?"

"Who? Oh yeah. That's Manabozho. We call him Manny. The Great Trickster Rabbit. Went to work for Warner Brothers years ago. Saved the studio to hear him tell it."

"Huh." Dean sits there with his mouth hanging open.

"Kid?"

"Huh?"

"You're catching flies."

"Oh." Dean's mouth snaps shut.

"Better."

The waiter comes over. Name's Kevin. He's tall, skinny, blond, and bored.

"Who's in the kitchen tonight?" Coyote asks.

Kevin rolls his eyes. "Kutnahin."

Coyote makes a face. "Crap."

"What?" Dean scowls. "Who's this Kutnahin?"

"He's the Trickster God of Medicine, Food Preparation and Hygiene."

"Oh-kay," Dean's hesitant. Judging from Coyote's tone, there's more. Dean waits for it.

"He's covered in dung. All the time."

"I'm not hungry," Dean says quickly.

"Dionysus has the bar contract. They oughta let Corn Woman do the food." Coyote grins at a fond memory. "That woman knows her way around a kitchen, lemme tell ya."

"So what'll you have?" Kevin the waiter is still bored and would obviously rather be anywhere but here with these yahoos. Hey, it's a living.

"Two beers," Dean drawls. "With Ambrosia shots."

_**000000**_

It was _perfect._

Well, it _would_ have been.

He had a feeling that Dean would be home soon. Dean had a tendency to come home in the middle of the night. That much about him hadn't changed.

It was time. Sam puts four packs of cherry Kool-aid in the shower head. That's after he puts the other twelve packs of grape and cherry between Dean's sheets. Sam alternates the colors, lays it down in stripes, for full effect.

Fortunately Dean left his toiletry kit in the bathroom, so Sam puts the entire tube of Ambesol into Dean's bottle of mouthwash.

Sam remembered to keep the bottle of dish detergent out for later, just before he went to bed.

Later on just before he goes to bed, Sam dumps the whole bottle of detergent into the toilet tank. He also takes the top off the toilet tank, turns the tube inside outward, and then puts it toward the towel bowl with just the end sticking out. Sam replaces the tank cover. He can't help but grin. The tube will squirt water every time Dean flushes.

_It. Was. Perfect._

Or at least, it would have been. Sam lies down and sleeps the sleep of the just and righteous for an hour or so.

He wakes up to the sounds of the water running in the shower and John Winchester bellowing like an enraged bull elephant.

_**000000**_

When the red curtain goes up on stage twenty minutes later Dean glances up, stares and nearly pours his beer into his own lap.

The band's AC/DC.

There's that huge train prop that was used in the 2008 Black Ice World Tour. Dean wanted to go see them, but there was that business with that pack of ghứls up near Vancouver, definitely not one of Dean's favorite hunts. It was unseasonably cold and rainy that week, and those sonsabitches were downright _nasty_.

"They owe me a favor." Coyote nudges Dean with his paw. "Go on, kid, get up there and sing."

Less than a minute later Dean's on stage shaking hands with Brian Johnson (lead vocal), Angus Young (lead guitar), Malcolm Young (backing vocals, rhythm guitar) , Cliff Williams (bass guitar, backing vocals) and Phil Rudd on drums. Dean's shaking inside but he doesn't show it. He's got this slightly manic grin on his face.

Coyote snickers. He doesn't even react as Spider slips into the bench seat opposite him, elegant as always in those midnight blue robes of his.

"Are you happy, Old Man?" Anansi says quietly. He sits there with a goblet of brandy in one hand, his other seven hands on the tabletop.

Coyote looks thoughtful. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."

On stage Dean whispers something to the others, and they all nod and laugh. Dean goes over to the microphone, nervously clears his throat. The band plays, and what comes out of Dean's mouth is _awful_.

"You…light up my life…" His voice cracks, hopelessly, dreadfully out of tune.

Everybody in the audience groans and rolls their eyes.

"You give me hope…to carry on …you light up my days …and fill my nights with song…"

Coyote sighs, covers his eyes with both paws. Singing in the Impala was one thing. So was singing in the shower. Kid sounded good in there. Coyote considers diving underneath the table. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea…

"I…I can't do this," Dean stammers painfully into the mike.

"Darn right you can't!" Monkey yells out loudly. Dean stands there for a moment with his head down.

Angus Young starts playing, followed by Malcolm Young and Cliff Williams. Phil Rudd joins in on drums.

Dean lifts his head. The smile he gives the audience is bright and wicked sharp.

_Gotcha._

When he opens his mouth he practically roars, a clear, sexy growl that brings the crowd to their feet by the second line.

_**She was a fast machine  
She kept her motor clean  
She was the best damn woman I had ever seen  
She had the sightless eyes  
Telling me no lies  
Knockin' me out with those American thighs  
Taking more than her share  
Had me fighting for air  
She told me to come but I was already there**_**  
**_**Shook me all night long  
Yeah you shook me all night long **_

**_'Cause the walls start shaking  
The earth was quaking  
My mind was aching  
And we were making it and you -_**

**_You shook me all night long  
Yeah you shook me all night long _**

The crowd belts out the chorus with Dean. He smirks and winks at Coyote as the song rolls on.

"Tricky pup." Spider whispers to himself. "I like him."

Coyote can't stop grinning.

_**000000**_

You can't have that many tricksters in one place without stupid breaking out at one time or another. Bugs Bunny (Dean just can't bring himself to call him _Manny_) dumps an entire salt shaker on Raven's tail. Raven misidentifies the culprit, sucker punches Badger instead, and the fight is _on_.

Dean's mightily impressed.

Monkey pulls out his Magic Wishing Staff , 13,00 pounds of mystical black iron, and starts whaling on any and everyone within reach, except, of course, Coyote, Dean and Jack Nicholson.

Coyote yawns. "The natives are gettin' a little restless."

Truth to tell, Dean's getting kinda bored too. AC/DC's been gone for nearly an hour. And now _this_. Once you've seen somebody get walloped once by a grinning monkey trickster with a mystical black staff, you've seen all there is to see.

Dean nods. "Let's go home."

_**000000**_

_**Bobby Singer's place  
Just before dawn**_

Sam's sitting on the front porch when they fade in. Dean picks up on the puppy eyes, Sam's body language, and it stops him dead in his tracks.

Sam looks downright miserable. "I'm…I'm grounded. By Dad _and_ Bobby."

"Grounded? Dude, what are you, four?"

"It was your fault," Sam blurts out.

Coyote and Dean both stop and stare.

"My fault? _My fault?_ What the hell did you _do_, Sam?"

It all comes out in a rush, his feelings about being dumped at Rebecca's in the first place, the constant thoughts of revenge, and Dean tries not to laugh when Sam talks about how Dad came in and used their shower, got sprayed in the face with cherry Kool-aid, then the bathroom was flooded with thick suds and the damn toilet sprayed every time John flushed it.

_Grounded. I don't care if you are twenty five years old. Grounded, you hear me, Sam? And then some._

Of course, John's mouth was numb after he used Dean's mouthwash (he was out of his own) but Sam understood his meaning clear enough.

Bobby quirked an eyebrow at Sam. "You'll clean up this mess for starters, you idjit. And after that, later on today I got some chores you can help me with. Heavy lifting. How 'bout _that_?"

By the time Sam finishes Coyote's rolling on the ground laughing, and Dean leans against the porch railing, his broad shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

"Oh shoot, oh shoot," the Old Man gasps. He hugs himself and rolls back and forth on his back, from side to side.

"It's not funny," Sam growls half-heartedly.

That only makes Coyote laugh even harder. "The hell it ain't!"

Dean huffs short barks of hoarse laughter as he tries to compose himself. "Well, I …I gotta say, Samantha," he wipes tears from his eyes, "I leave you alone for a few days and you really step in it, don't you?"

"Did you arrange it, Dean? Did you…_influence_ Rebecca somehow?"

"What?" It's one of the few times in life that Dean looks genuinely shocked. "Hell no. I figured she'd call you."

"And how did you figure that?" Sam says quietly.

Dean stares at the porch railing. "She's a friend of yours, Sam. You had a life when you were at Stanford, remember? You got friends there. Forget that crazy crap with the cows," he shrugs, "Rebecca would have invited you anyway." Dean lifts his head and stares Sam directly in the eyes. "They were having a party. She wanted you there."

That open, earnest look in Dean's eyes has the desired effect. Sam untenses, then groans. "And I acted like a total ass while I was there."

"Hey, I'm not cleanin' up _that_ mess for ya, Gilligan. You're on your own with _that_ one." Dean sighs. "All right. Lemme go in here and plead your case for ya." Dean stands there blinking at the front door. Probably won't do any good, but he'll take the weight for this.

Dean chuckles, low and amused. "How many times did you nail Dad again?"

"Three." Sam frowns a little. "No, wait. Four."

Coyote snorts, and then beats the ground with his paw.

"I just thought…you dumped me at Bec's house because you didn't want me around."

Dean shakes his head in apparent wonder. "No. You got that _all_ wrong."

"We're all we've got, you know? You and the Old Man, me and Dad…"

"Aw shucks, Samantha. You say the sweetest things."

"Let me finish, will you? It's all about family, you know? We might be a little twisted—"

Dean snorts. "A little?"

"You know what I'm trying to say."

"Yeah. Yeah I do. And while you're at it, you can change the sheets in my bed. I'm not waking up striped all over with grape and cherry Kool-aid, dude. That's not my kink."

Sam sputters. "How did you ---"

He'd been hoping for just one prank on Dean, _just one_, and now he didn't even have _that_.

"For one. I can smell it on you. Enhanced senses, remember? For another," Dean grabs Sam around his neck, pulls him down and ruffles his hair affectionately, "You got that trick from me."

"Damn," Sam says softly.

_**000000**_

He couldn't remember how long he'd been here.

There were cows. Cows all over the place, and they seemed to know what he'd done back on earth.

They chased him everywhere he went, foul things with sharp teeth, not like those harmless things on earth, and none of the magic he knew worked.

It was okay, though. That damn Coyote and his brat hadn't heard the last of him. He'd get back there, somehow, and make them scream just like that other Dean Winchester had. They'd die when he got his hands on them again, and this time it would be permanently.

The AU trickster crept around the corner of the rocks. He could hole up until nightfall. It would be safer after that, but he had to step out in the open momentarily to get to that cave he'd been hiding in. Just a few seconds of exposure, and then he'd safe for the night.

He stepped out and had just enough time to sense something in the air directly over his head. He looked up just in time to see.

He recognized the other trickster. The one from that damn Coyote 'verse, the one that tried to warn him to stay away. This one was screaming, spreadeagled out, stuck to the bottom of something huge. The AU trickster had just enough time to realize that what was coming down on top of both of them was an enormous pink foot.

"Oh, _crap_."

**_

* * *

A/N:_** Okay, that's it. I'm done. Zen is now _complete_. I'm glad to see that you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Much thanks and much love to everyone who read and reviewed. I'm going to catch up answering your reviews, I promise! And thanks to everyone who lurked and read. I know you're out there.

_**Shout-outs:**_ Thanks to Phoebe and Jenna, 'cause you two gave me much unholy encouragement. And Ikchen, I hope you're feeling better. Thank you all!


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